Breaking Blood on Alabaster
by Chanse Lowell
Summary: AH ExB 1899 New York City, a young widow has bills and responsibilities. What will she do to the owner of the New York Times when he refuses to sign her weekly wages? Will she drag him to the lower east side and teach him a lesson, or tease him with her body? All good ideas, only she hadn't planned on this man taking absolute control. BDSM themes, blood lust and fisticuffs ensue.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**December 22, 1899**

"Oh almighty Jesus, she's coming here now?" Edward Masen wiped his brow and swiped his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end.

"Yes, and she's very displeased with you."

Edward huffed. "Why does she have to be so difficult?"

Why wouldn't this woman give up? He'd never met her before, but she was already irritating him because she was hassling various employees in all of his newspaper companies.

"That's what some widows do. They turn all bitter like nasty little mites, and all a man can do is get out of their way and smile as they do it." Emmett swept aside and went to Edward's office door.

Edward clicked his teeth for a moment, deep in thought. "Well, I'll be damned if I ever step aside for a foul mite. I smash it with my heel. And I'll do the same with this little miss and her attitude. She's under my authority, and she'll show me some respect."

"Yes, I daresay . . . Good luck with that caustic mite," Emmett said under his breath and exited.

The door clanged shut behind him.

Edward paced in the room.

Dear God how he detested women like this. She had no business in a man's world. Why couldn't she see this?

He pulled on his suspenders, took a seat and his eyes roamed over today's newspaper—one of the few he did not have a controlling interest in.

A smile bloomed.

Nothing of report on him. Good.

"I said get out of my way, little man!" a female's voice boomed from outside his door.

Edward shook his head and groaned. How was he going to deal with her? He'd heard of her ferocious, biting attitude.

"If you do not remove your person this instant, I'll whip you like I do an idiot horse!" she yelled even louder.

A moment later, Emmett pushed open Edward's office door and then like he'd said he would do, he moved aside to make way for her.

Edward sat in astonishment at this tiny little brunette with rather voluptuous curves, an ample bosom and eyes like a black storm. She appeared so unassuming, yet she bossed around the likes of Emmett—a behemoth of a man. How was it she neither bowed to Emmett or him? Edward owned this establishment. Instead she glared at them, and she certainly didn't dip her head in respect. Who taught her to act in this manner?

His eyes went wide when she stood there bold as brass, defiant and shaking from head to toe while her face reddened.

"You did not sign my bank note," she began, stomping toward Edward and looking him in the eye.

"I see you have good eyesight; well, that settles that bet," Edward said, smirking.

"I have no time for your stupid games. You think I give a damn you own this place, all the other gossips in town and half the shares in the oil business, too? I don't see anything great before me. I see a sick man, gambling away a widows future."

He swallowed and his jaw clenched. "I don't harm widows," he said, his voice low and husky. He set his hands on his desk and leaned forward.

She inched closer until she was flush up against the other side of his desk and leaning over it as well. There was barely a foot between their faces.

The door to his office clicked closed quietly.

Apparently Emmett vacated the room.

Smart man. This might get brutal.

"Look at you—thinking you're Lord over all. It sickens me the way you prance around this town and how the women talk about you." She glared.

What women were talking? This couldn't be right . . .

"Is there a reason you're wasting my time, little miss?"

"The name's Miss Swan," she said, clearing her throat.

"Then you will call me Mr. Masen, and then maybe we can move forward," he replied.

"I'm not moving anywhere in any direction with you, asshole."

His eyes went wide, and he growled.

"Yes, that's your name. That's what the woman call you: 'asshole paperman.' Only I dropped the paperman part. I don't care if you're made of paper, oil, or shit. You reek of filth." She breathed hard and her breath fanned across his face.

Good Lord but she smelled divine. He blinked and tried to look away, but her cleavage was bearing down on him, and she had lush breasts from what he could see. His mouth watered, damn his throat. He could barely swallow for some inexplicable reason, so it was pooling at the back of his tongue.

"And if you think I work for free, you need to ponder on what it means to be an employer," she said and backed off.

His stomach flipped, and he had the undeniable urge to tie her down and see how ample those breasts truly were. God forbid he get any more aroused by this detestable mite.

"Oh, no, even prostitutes get paid handsomely, so I would never think you work for free," he said, chuckling.

She picked up his ink pot and threw it at his head. He ducked and whistled.

"Whooooohhhh, I see you have no future in baseball. Shame," he said, pointing at the ink spot on the wall she'd just created.

"I won't clean that up," she challenged, ignoring his jibe about her throwing skills.

"You will if you want your damn bank note," he barked back.

"You see if I'll do anything of the sort. No more of my work for you. I'll seek out the competition," she said, squaring her shoulders and heading toward the door. She turned on the spot before grabbing the door handle. "And if I ever see your stupid red hair on the street, you'll get more flung at you from me than a minuscule ink pot. Can't you afford bigger? I thought you were all about generous portion size." She glanced down at her cleavage and then left the room, making sure to terrorize his staff as she left.

His eyes followed after her. Brazen woman. Her ankles were even showing. That was vulgar and shunned by many. His right eyebrow lifted.

He walked over to his door she'd flung wide open and called out to his crew, "Ignore that mite. Feel free to squish it anytime it comes around. You have my permission. Now, get back to work. These papers don't manufacture themselves."

He went back to his office, secured the door shut and shoved her bank note aside. There had to be a way to do this so it worked for both of them.

He lit up his cigarette and puffed on it as he rounded his desk.

_Knock, knock._

"Yes, come," Edward hollered and then exhaled the smoke swirling in his lungs.

"Did you sign it?" Emmett asked.

"No. I can't."

"You still haven't altered that?" Emmett came inside and shut the door behind him. "For the love of . . ." He dropped his head and shook it. "She does amazing work, and we've sold a lot more papers because of her."

"I don't give a damn. I don't need her. I don't care how many papers we sell. They sell regardless of who we use as our artist or photographer." Edward plucked at one of his suspenders and then straightened his bow tie as he sat down.

"I know you don't care, but this my livelihood. I've got a family on the way. I need as big a salary as I can get," Emmett said, his voice traveling to the floor.

"Emmett, are you telling me you got that poor young lady pregnant I forbid you to see?" Edward's brow popped up.

"Yes, I . . . Well, I love her, and she loves m—"

"No she does not!" Edward bellowed. "She sees a fortune—she sees an easy way to have food on her table, and she spread her legs in exchange for an oil tycoon's money purse!"

"Unlike you, I have faith in the goodness of people, and she's a wonderful, sweet, Christian woman. She can't help it she was forced to work on the streets."

"Is that what they're calling it these days? Or do you prefer call girl? I myself am the one that introduced you when I refused to give her my cock. I don't like blondes." Edward took a long drag on his cigarette and then snuffed it out on the plate, sitting on his desk. "She's a horrid woman, wears entirely too much rouge, and she smokes more than I do."

"I don't care," Emmett said, his eyes twisting like knives in Edward's gut.

"Fine. You see how much she ruins you, but I'll make sure she gets none of my money."

"Your money's secured." Emmett tapped the desk with his knuckles. "Will I see you tonight at the fights?"

"I don't know." Edward frowned.

"Why? What's the problem, brother? We always go each Friday. I plan to double my wages tonight. I want to shower my lovely Rose with gifts and a lavish wedding in June."

"Great gates of hell—she'll be monstrously huge by then. Rose will look like a—"

"She'll look like a woman carrying my child, and I can't wait for the day her belly's ripe and everyone knows she's mine." Emmett bowed with a scolding look and left.

Well, this seemed to be where bets should be laid.

Edward grabbed another cigarette, pocketed it in his suit coat, put the coat on and grabbed his hat in one hand and the mite's bank note in his other.

He slapped the bank note on Emmett's desk on the way out. "Sign this."

"I can't," Emmett retorted. "You made it impossible."

"I don't care, and it's doubtful the bank will even notice. Sign it and send it to her. She'll stop moaning at me."

"I thought you did everything you could to get women to moan for you." Emmett cocked his head at his brother and boss, a devilish gleam in his eye.

"Quite, but this one's moans I cannot abide, the little trollop." Edward loomed over him, and snarled, "If you want me to attend your wedding in June, then you'll sign this and be rid of this bank note. It irks me it's still in this building."

Edward left without another word.

The day was bright, the birds were chirping, and he had a visit to make.

**A/N:**

**The **_**New York Herald**_ **in 1899 was actually the biggest newspaper in circulation in New York, not the **_**Times**_**, but since we're all familiar with the **_**Times**_**, I figured I'd stick with what we know.**

**Also, a few warnings upfront on this story. There is an attempted rape scene by a drunk guy, but there's no nudity and it's stopped before it gets anywhere. It's in chapter 12, and she does get called a whore and a slut by this man. This scene's not much worse than what happens in Twilight when Bella's being followed, and kind of along the lines of the attack by James at the end of that same book. Also, there's some minor edge play in the final chapter. I'll try to give a warning at the beginning of both of these chapters in case these are scenes you'd prefer to avoid.**

**Thanks so much for reading. This is a darker Edward than I usually write, and as I've told many of you, he has Dom tendencies and there will be BDSM throughout this fic. I appreciate you giving this story a "chanse." *snickers***

**I plan to update every Monday and Friday… I've written all of this story except the last 2 chapters, which I intend to finish on Monday.**

**Let me know what you think so far.**

**Chanse**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Get out of my sight," Isabella croaked as a man approached her.

Another asshole, another day.

"Please, Miss Swan, I have money!" the man said, eyes torn and raking over her body.

"The day I seek wages for my body like that, is the day I slit my throat! I have some decency and self-respect," she replied, pointing the way for him to leave.

Instead, he rushed forward, dropped to his knees and clung to her skirts.

This was ridiculous! She rolled her eyes and tipped her head back.

"Please! You know how lonely I am!" he cried, pawing at her legs.

She tried to step aside, but he would not relent.

"Tell me your name again," she said, dropping her head.

He still gripped onto her, his eyes welling up. "Mr. Stanford."

"Your first name, dolt, or I'll kick you between the legs. My boot's between your knees already, Stanford; you put yourself in a precarious position." She lifted a brow.

"I do it for you. I want to bear myself to you, to take you to my bed," he pleaded.

"Pay a tart—I'm not in that line of work. My profession is artistic," she said.

"You could paint me. I'd be a nude figure for you."

She grimaced and scrunched her nose real tight. "Ewww! No! I pick my subjects, and rarely do nudes anymore."

"Then I'd buy up all your sketches and canvases and—"

"Stanford, if you can afford that, then you can afford a proper mistress. I'm not interested. Sex has no appeal to me . . ."_._

"I'd be gentle—I'd never harm you," he went on.

She growled. "Gentle is not the problem. I'm not a china doll. I don't break, and certainly don't bend to you."

"I heard you visited Mr. Masen today. Do you bend to him? All of New York's ladies do," he said.

_Thwaaaack!_

She kicked his inner knee.

He howled and rolled to the side.

She sat down on the park bench and watched him crawl back to her.

"Say that again, please. I need a good way to break in my new shoes," she said, smirking.

"Christ Jesus, I'll do anything for you—anything," he said, back at her lap, pawing once more.

"Stanford, you need to keep yourself busy with your employ. I have things I need to attend to," she said, standing up.

As she turned to go, there _he_ was.

Asshole paperman. And he was watching her with a disinterested look on his face.

"It's raining assholes, and I left my parasol at home. Good heavens I should be so smart next time to bring my strongest one in case we get a typhoon of them."

"You mean 'tycoon,'" Stanford gritted.

"Oooh, I like that." She patted his head and told him, "You might want to get off the ground before someone mistakes you for an unleashed pet."

"I'd like to be your pet," he hissed through his teeth.

"I dislike animals—they shed and shit, and both are disagreeable." She brushed him aside and roamed in Mr. Masen's direction.

Instead of looking away like any gentlewoman would do, she stared right into his smug face.

He smelled of cigars and some lewd woman's perfume.

"I see the day's been good for you," he sneered as she passed.

She turned around and went straight to his side. "And I see the whore's have been kind to you." She wiped at his chin. "You missed a spot." There was lipstick trailing down his neck.

"I suppose I'm supposed to thank you for that?"

"No. I don't wear lipstick, and I certainly don't leave a trail when I've done illicit things." She set her hands on her hips. "Us peons that work for an honest wage, don't tout what we've done."

"Funny," he huffed, "I heard you've been touting your drawings all over town, trying to whore yourself out for more money."

"Some of us have bills to pay, and money doesn't just land in our lap."

"No, but apparently stray men do."

Well, what do you know about such things, paperman?"

"I just saw, plain as a tree in this park, a man throw himself at you." He tipped his chin toward Stanford now strolling in the opposite direction.

"And did your eyesight and hearing both fail you when I told him to go find a nice hole in a fence to dip his pole into? I'n it strange how you see only what you want to?" She smiled. What did it matter if she was using coarse language and letting some of her slang from her neighborhood seep into her language? It wasn't like he could despise her any more than he already did.

"_I'n it_ strange how a woman such as yourself, decidedly educated, can't seem to find a proper husband to replace the one she lost, instead of hounding her employers for money she has yet to earn?"

_Swaaaaack!_

"Don't you ever talk about my Roman. He was decent and kind—all the things, you, sir, are not."

He stood there with his cheek almost as red as the trails of lipstick left behind. She should have done more to him than that for not only insulting her, but for besmirching her goodly deceased husband.

Her hand tingled from smacking him, and she was glad of it.

After a slow measured step toward her, he took her wrist in his, and she cringed, ready for him to crush the delicate bones there.

Instead, he took her wrist to his mouth, kissed it with a sensual pulsing charge and then released it.

"That, madame, may be the first time a woman's ever dared to touch me without my permission," he growled low and gravelly.

"And that may be the first time I've dared to touch something so disgusting without a hope of flushing it down the toilet."

"You are in need of a proper man to take you at hand."

"You mean between his legs?" She hiccuped a laugh and covered her mouth, smiling.

"I do." He tipped his head.

She pulled off his hat. "Undoubtedly, that's the most absurd thing you've ever said."

"It's the most truthful thing I've ever said."

"Paperman, meet scissors. I can cut through your bullshit, and don't you think I won't."

"Is that what you call this?" He stared down at his hat in her hands.

She reached into her purse and pulled out all the money she had. "You use this. You need it more than I do. Maybe it'll be good for you to see what honest money feels like." She put the hat on top of his head with the coins clinking onto his hair.

"Good Lord, woman, what a good whip wouldn't do to cure what ails you." He bared his teeth at her.

"I'm sure it would, but I rather like being able to sit as I work. You well know the merits of a generous cushion on your backside as others toil around you."

He laughed. "I am not lazy. I work harder than any one of my employees."

"And I'm certain they look to you for moral guidance, too." She leaned in and sniffed at him. "Oh, and tastes in female perfume as well. That's important—can't forget about _that_. It's indeed fortunate you can tell them all about which ones are more pleasant on the tongue and which ones linger longest . . ."

"No, mite—I leave such feminine details to you and the ladies you gossip with, since clearly, they like to bicker about me and what I do. This will put all your tongues to better use."

She stepped even closer, her breast brushing up against his sleeve. "I don't care what other women say. I judge for myself, and the proof's on your neck right now."

"How do you know it's not blood? I could have cut myself shaving."

She shoved her fingers in his face with the lipstick she wiped off. "Short memory?"

"I . . ."

She smirked. "Short memory and poor taste in perfumed harlots." She wiped the lipstick on his chin. "Why not wear it as a badge of honor since you've already said you don't care."

"That's twice you've touched me without my permission," he said, his eyes flitting to her breasts.

"According to you, I walk the streets, begging for coin, so what does it matter to you if I throw myself at you?"

"Well . . . I . . ."

She shoved him back. "Get a private mistress, then the ladies won't have to tell me stuff I don't care to hear."

"Jealous . . ."

She threw her purse at him, and this time he failed to duck in time.

It knocked his hat off, sending the coins scattering and clinking around him.

"You, sir, are no gentleman!" She left in haste, and ignored her purse on the ground. She'd be damned if she leaned over to get it back.

He could keep it, leave it there, and take a shit on it, the bastard!

.

.

.

Isabella stopped at the last office of the day.

"Please, I only ask five minutes of his time. I've been freelancing for the _New York Times_, but they have no need of my drawings for this set. I'm due for rent next week. I only need five minutes," Isabella pleaded.

"You've been working for _them_?" the man's eyes rose up and his mustache jerked.

"For months now," she lied. "They pay well, and they're a good place to be employed, but unfortunately the competition is fierce, and well, I . . ."

"For a lady, I can see it is difficult for you," the man said.

She wanted to roll her eyes, but resisted in case it ruined her chances.

"I'll tell Mr. Bryant you're here." He stepped into the office and a few muffled words were exchanged that she could overhear.

The man she'd been talking to stepped out and ushered her in. "Mr. Bryant will see you now Mrs. Thompson."

Isabella gave a small curtsy and entered the office.

"I apologize for the delay," Mr. Bryant began. "We've been warned there's a hostile woman by the name of Swan parading around from newspaper office to newspaper office, bullying employees and asking to be hired."

"My word, how unseemly," she said, faking shock. She placed her hand over her chest, and of course his eyes went right there. "How awful for these hardworking papermen." She fought off a snicker at the name: papermen. Reminded her of that asshole she wiped lipstick off of and onto.

That man had actually reeked of more than one lady's eau de toilette, otherwise he would not have smelled so strongly of their diluted perfumes. Street walkers could not usually afford the strong, good stuff.

She knew because she was relegated to lavender aromatic waters herself. It was requisite she smell nice when she couldn't bathe as regularly as she'd like. The floating baths and the river were far enough away it made it a hardship to travel there to do it. How else would she gain employment if she stank?

She took a deep whiff for a moment to make sure at this point she smelled decent.

Yes, she was presentable, unlike that nasty asshole paperman, obviously in the throes of sin whenever he could manage it between tossing papers out to the masses filled with no news of import.

She was one to judge? Here she stood, being false about who she was so she could get paid. She had no choice though. It was obvious Mr. Masen had ensured none of the papers would hire her, the downright devil.

"Yes, it's unfortunate we've had to be on guard from such disgusting displays of unfemininity." Mr. Bryant coughed and wheezed.

She smiled and once more fought off a chuckle. This man was a dolt. How he ever ran an office was a question only the cosmos could answer. He could barely string together an intelligent sentence thus far. "I came today because as you know, the paper sells more readily with pictures for those who are less literate because they are more apt to buy it that way."

She set her portfolio on his desk. He leafed through it with a look of interest.

She had drawings of people of repute, stepping out of carriages. Pictures of powerful men, huddled in street corners. She even had sketches of a judge strolling down the walkway with a well-known call girl by the name of Rosalie Hale.

"How fascinating—the way you catch the details like the spark in their eyes. Well, I've . . . . I've never seen anything more exquisite than this." He plunked down a purse filled with coins. He pulled out a day's worth of wages, and even handed her some paper money. Her eyes went wide.

"Please, sir, this is more than generous," she protested. "I only want what's fair and equitable."

"These are to buy this lot. And I am advancing you with two week's pay. I want to use your services for that amount of time to make sure you are a good fit with us."

She lost her breath and her knees weakened, and nothing took her down like that. This would help pay off her debts. She was behind a month in rent. "Thank you. I shall be here at eight a.m. every day to offer up my artwork for your paper."

"Good. See me directly. I'll inform you of the day's stories to be printed for the next round. You will be placed at a desk, and I'll expect to you to sketch whatever my reporters ask. If you can do this, then we will discuss full employment in your future." He nodded, and his eyes roved over her body.

She fingered the area where her wedding ring used to reside. His eyes went there for a moment, his breath hitched and then he extended a palm.

She shook it and left his office with the money in her hands.

This was . . . Well, it was extraordinary. She could pay her rent, and she could eat.

As she ambled down the street toward home, she cursed under her breath.

"Oh, that damned club," she groused.

She forgot she'd made a commitment. She'd promised her sister-in-law she'd be there. This was before she had this money in her grasp though.

Her shoulders went up around her ears as a frigid breeze swept through. Her ankles broke out in chills.

Better attend. She never knew where her next set of wages would come from.

She quickened her pace and stepped into her home, where it was dark and cold, but hers nonetheless.

**A/N:**

**I've posted some information that's mentioned in this chapter on my blog (address in my profile), including which newspaper company this is she's applied to, even though it's mentioned in the next chapter or two, and also how poor people like her tended to common things like bathing since in a tenement there was rarely a bath tub in this time period. **

**I have to apologize for being unable to answer as many reviews this time around. I'm writing other stories right now and trying my hardest to publish another story in a few weeks on Amazon, so it leaves me little time for much else. I do read every single review, but if I get asked several questions that are similar, I'll just answer them here in author notes rather than answer individually to save on time.**

**So… this time around, I'm being asked what edge play is by a few of you. Here's the definition according to wiki:**

In BDSM, **edgeplay** is a subjective term for types of sexual play that are considered to be pushing on the edge of the traditional S.S.C. (safe, sane and consensual) creed. They would be considered more RACK (Risk-Aware Consensual Kink).

Edgeplay may involve the risk of serious, even permanent, harm, or death, exemplified by activities such as breathplay (erotic asphyxiation), fire play, knife play, and gunplay, as well as the increased risk of spreading disease, as with cutting, bloodplay, or barebacking.

What constitutes edgeplay varies with the persons involved, and also over time. In the mid-nineties, the Living in Leather convention did not have panels on ageplay or scat because they were considered too edgy. By 2000 they were part of the regular list programming.

Some activities, such as ageplay or rape roleplay, may be considered quite edgy by some and not at all for others. The definition is fairly subjective, although typically based on some level on what people are used to in their local scene.

**In this story, **_**Breaking Blood on Alabaster**_**, the edge play involved at the end is cutting because of Edward's blood lust, but it's definitely consensual. It won't be too gory or graphic, and extremely sensual. If you want to read some excellent darker erotica with some really good edge play, try out Tiffany Reisz's stuff. Soren is hypnotic, and he's into cutting/blood play. I never thought I'd ever consider even reading something like that, but holy crap, Tiffany somehow finds a way to make it sound sexy and fascinating.**

**BTW, if you're already a fan of hers, she's going to be doing an author's chat on Goodreads in the BDSM group on June 11 07:14AM. It'll be in the Foreplay BAR. I'm not sure if you have to be a member of this group to attend this event online or not (I love this group, BTW, such wonderful, friendly, helpful people there! And the book recs are fabulous). She's wonderful to talk to, though. I've chatted with her online more than once. Such a down-to-earth person and open about pretty much anything.**

**Of course, keep in mind this is just a story, just as hers is, so I do not promote playing in these manners without training, education and making sure above all else it is as safe and sane as possible, and always consensual. Training is imperative. This isn't stuff that should be messed with or treated lightly.**

**Back to my edgeward… I'm blown away by how many reviews this first chapter received. Seems I'm not the only one that loves a feisty Bella, taking him on. Yay! Thank you all so much for your support.**

**Just you wait 'til she gets going. You've barely seen the spark of this woman's flame. Think inferno…**

**P.s. There is a reason she's going by Miss Swan even though she's a widow. Unfortunately, that's not going to be revealed for quite some time. I'm finishing writing the 20th and 21st chapter today, so hopefully that answers some of the questions I've been given about length of this fic.**

**Chanse**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_Pap! Pa-pap!_

Edward's knuckles pricked and stung, but he landed another blow.

_Thuck!_

"Take that, you little chit!" the brawler snarled.

He barely nicked Edward's jaw.

"Chit, am I?" Edward's grin was lopsided. "I own many chits, and I most certainly own you!"

_Papap! Papapapap!_

He jabbed at the man's ribs, and once he heard that rhythmic sound of ribs cracking, he took the blows to this man's head.

"Knock him out!" Hope screeched from the crowd.

Edward turned his head and smiled at her before he did precisely that.

The hulking man went flying and was sprawled out on the ground.

Edward laughed and then circled the crowd, taking the money from the bets.

"You see! Bigger is not always better!" Edward called out to the throngs of people surrounding him now.

"Oh that's right," a small feminine voice said from nearby. "Lie to them."

How the hell did she get in here?

He parted his way through the crowd to the source of the sound.

There sat the mite, with several sheafs of paper, scribbling on one of them and at an angle so he could not see what it was she doodled.

"Crawled out from under your rock, I see?" he said, taking a seat at her side.

He shooed away his admirers, but called for a drink of scotch.

"The rock you mean to squish me with? I heard what you call me," she began in on him, though she kept her eyes to her manic, drawing hand.

"Oh, the ladies are at it again, huh? They can't find a more suitable subject than me to spread lies about?"

"No. They can't seem to stop spotting you, crawling out of your own hidey holes where the whores reside." She chuckled to herself. "I do hope for your sake their lipstick helps the blows to glide off your chest. The last time I checked, they did use a rather greasy type." She touched her own mouth, and his eyes traveled to those gorgeous, plump lips.

His cock strained at his tight trousers for the moment.

God, it was time.

He always fucked after a fight.

But not with this mite.

She was repellent, except . . .

His eyes raked down her luscious curves. Must she be so attractive when all that lay beneath this cloak of skin was a shallow cesspool filled with vermin?

She was the exact physical form of a woman he gravitated to.

Only that wicked tongue. He shook his head. No, he could not get past it.

Though he could gag her—show her what she needed so she'd quit being such a lousy bitch.

"So, that man in the park did not pay well enough, and you were forced to come here tonight to increase your small fortune?" He nudged her with his leg.

She growled when it made her drawing hand slip.

"I refused him, like I do all men. I'm not interested in what lies between their legs."

"Only mine," he teased.

"Perhaps if it means you have coin to pay me for my renditions for the paper."

"This song again?"

"This is how I survive, Mr. Masen, and though I am aware it's of no consequence to you whether I live another day, it weighs heavy on my mind." She lifted her eyes for a moment then went back to her work.

The only thing that was heavy right now was his cock.

"Stop that scratching with your pencil," he said, touching her arm.

"If you want to see how you get laid out on the floor from a woman's smack, then keep touching me, sir," she said through her clenched teeth. "You are not the only one that cannot abide being touched without permission given, and I have given you nonesuch. But if you want to kiss the ground with your busted teeth, then by all means . . ."

"I'd pay you to see that," he barked through a laugh.

"I bet you would."

"How much would you bet?"

"Beg your pardon?" she asked, her brow furrowing. She traced something along the edge of her paper.

His curiosity was piqued.

He tried to sit taller and spy on her work, but she tipped it away from him.

"Cheating? Isn't that beneath a man of means?" she asked, grinning.

God, those lips would be the death of him.

He was throbbing now.

"I promise to avoid all cheating, if you tell me what you would bet and get in that circle with me."

"A woman's not supposed to box," she said.

"And a woman's not supposed to work in the paper business either, but that seems to be your goal, is it not?"

She turned her papers over, set them aside and stood up, looming. "I think you've overstepped your bounds, but, yes, I'll place a bet with you, and I'll step in that ring, but not for _your_ money."

"Others money?

"That's acceptable."

"So, place your bet, then," he said, arms crossed over his chest as he appraised her.

She glanced at his bared pecs then looked him in the eye. "Since you are so keen to see what I have drawn, I'll give you my drawing if you win."

"Done. And I bet a month's worth of your wages to be paid by the _Times_ you would've earned at the paper if I had hired you today."

"Done." She shook his hand. "You will lose. Assholes always do one way or the other."

"Ah, that may be true, but papermen are flexible and can only be cut by scissors, and you, my dear, have none." He grabbed her hand and pointed out that she did not have the long, tapered fingernails of a gentlewoman. They were short, stubby and stained with ink, chalk, paint, and pencil markings.

"Leave your flattering talk for the whores watching you. They want to hear this shit—I do not." She took her shoes off, shoved them to the side and in a yank, tore her sleeves off her dress.

It was the most astonishing thing to watch the way she moved with animalistic grace and ease.

"You just ruined your dress. I thought you were in need of wages?" he questioned, entering the betting circle and grabbing for his money bag.

"I can sew. You think I cannot fix what I break?" She waved at the women to quiet down. They were already screaming at her to get out of the ring.

"Does that include jaws when you knock a man out with your powerful fist blow?" he teased.

"No, but it does include hearts you've trampled through the city."

He frowned.

What was she prattling on about now?

"My bets are placed," he announced to the crowd. "But Miss Swan does not want my money—she wants all of yours. I suggest you bet on me, for she will only take the winnings if I lose, and I never lose. Do not give her a cent."

She circled him and her eyes traversed up and down his body.

Was she trying to find his Achilles heel? He had none.

"And I have promised not to cheat, not that I ever do when it comes to fisticuffs, but you will see today, I break my own rules by hitting a woman, but she has consented, so I suppose it is allowable." Edward bowed to Isabella.

She scowled and refused to curtsy back.

"Begin!" the announcer said after shouting out a few rules.

The only one Edward heard was no hitting below the belt before a hideous, sharp jab was placed on his nose and it cracked.

Blood spurted out of his face and he clasped his hands over it in utter shock.

The next thing he knew, she was behind him, on his back, her arms around his neck and the little mite was choking the life out of him.

He swatted at her.

"This is not allowed!" Hope screamed repeatedly. "She's to hit—not choke!"

Isabella's little arms tightened, and his throat closed in on itself.

He rolled over on the ground so his bodyweight crushed her beneath him.

Her legs flailed below him, and he elbowed her in the hip.

She gasped, but her grip did not cease.

Good Lord but she was wiry.

He rocked back and forth, trying his damnedest to knock her away from him, but her hold was firm and secured.

She locked her arms around him ever tighter, and his vision blurred.

When he could no longer fight her off, she let go and slipped out from under him.

Blows rained down on his face, on his chest, and a woman was crying above him.

"Why did you do that to her?"

"Swan?" he choked out. "Mite?"

"It's Hope, you charlatan bastard!" his ofttimes lover croaked and then she punched him in the head so hard, blood from his nose spattered her dress.

That was the last thing he saw before it all went black.

.

.

.

Edward woke in the hospital, a blond-haired doctor hovering over him.

"You're awake, sir?" the man asked.

Edward groaned in response.

"We need you to sign these papers," the doctor said, shoving something in front of him.

Edward's face was wrapped in bandages. Under no circumstances would he leave here until they were removed.

"How long have I been here?" Edward asked.

"A little over twenty-four hours. I gave you some laudanum for the pain before setting your nose right. It seemed your body did not take well to the elixir." The doctor chuckled for a moment. "I was worried you might not ever wake, but some woman stopped by and told me what happened. I figured you might've been tired after being mugged and beaten by ten men. My, my, that must've been horrific. I'm surprised she was able to speak of it calmly." His voice rose in pitch.

Why would Hope fib like that for him? She owed him nothing. Edward's brow pinched, and he winched then cried out in pain. Lord, that stung.

"Try not to move your face if you can until the swelling goes down. Lots of ice and steaks applied to the face should help speed the process," he advised.

"Fine, fine, yes, let me sign," Edward said, waving the doctor off.

"I'm Carlisle, by the way," the doctor said.

"Good to meet you," Edward said, and then he sat up fully.

"You may leave when you're ready," Carlisle said.

"I shall, and if you would, good sir, keep out of my way." Edward stood on shaky legs, and was surprised to see he was already dressed in his shirt he'd taken off at the club to brawl.

He really owed Hope now, and he hated owing anyone anything.

"Good evening," Carlisle said and left the area.

Edward stumbled out of the hospital. He found the first carriage available and instead of going home, he went straight to Hope's.

He knocked on her door with his cane.

She opened it a crack and then as soon as she saw him, she slammed the door in his face.

"Woman, you open this door," he warned.

"No! Leave!" she called back.

"Open it now, Hope. I want to thank you," he said, pounding with his bruised fist this time.

His head ached and throbbed like a horse tramping over uneven cobblestones.

"Thank me?" She wrenched the door back open. "For what?"

"For everything," he said, pushing the door aside and stomping his way in.

It was warm and cozy in here and smelled of her. She always smelled of lilacs. He was mildly attracted to that smell, but more interested in her cunning mouth that took his girth deeper than any other woman he'd ever known.

Though, the mite's lips . . . She might go even further. He might . . .

Oh God. Something else was throbbing besides his head now.

He pinned Hope beneath him on the couch in a flash.

"You took me to the hospital. You dressed me." He dipped his head down to kiss her.

"I did no such thing," she said, wiggling her wrists he was holding tight against the cushions.

"Then who?"

"That bitch that whipped your ass," she said, smiling.

"The mite? She did that?"

"Well, that's what I was told. I don't know. I left after you blacked out. Some man was trying to buy me for the night after he saw me slap and hit you. He was fat and bald and drunker than a—"

Edward flung her off him.

"Isabella Swan took me to the hospital?" He rubbed his hands across his still bandaged face. Jesus, he forgot to insist they unwind this shit off his face.

"Yeah. I guess she made so much money at the fight she thought it only fair." Hope shrugged and lit a cigarette.

"Who did you go home with then?" Edward asked her, glaring at Hope over his shoulder.

"You know I don't do that after a fight unless it's you. Most of them are so inebriated they can't even find their dick, and then the next day they try to get their money back, saying they never fucked me. If they can't remember what they did, I don't keep my money." She offered him a cigarette.

He accepted it but once he pursed his lips for a puff, his face hurt so badly, tears jerked their way into his eyes.

He scrunched up the cigarette and threw it in the fire, banked well in the hearth.

The lying slut. She had a man here. She never could bank a fire well, and always insisted Edward do it for her before he got his dick wet with her.

"Who was here, Hope?"

"No one."

"Liar!" He shot up and paced. "Just tell me."

"Why does it matter? You don't really want me. You don't have relationships, Edward, and especially not with a common tramp." She grimaced and her eyes flooded with tears. "But then you don't want the ladies of your station either, do you?"

He stood stoic, staring at her unblinking. "Be quiet."

"It's true. What. Do. You. Want? Because I certainly cannot decipher what drives you. It's not money, it's not power, it's not sex. What is it you want?"

"Blood."

"Blood?" She squirmed. "You got plenty of that tonight at the club with your fights."

"I know, and I want more," he said.

"I think you should leave now, and I don't want to see you anymore."

"Hope—if that's even your real name—you don't get to decide."

She shivered and wrapped an arm around her torso. "I do now. The man who was here tonight is more powerful than you. He doesn't want me with other men, and I'm sick of entertaining random men, and you."

"You put on a good act, but there is no chance you ever pretended when I made you scream my name."

"You have a way with a woman's body, I do not deny it, but you are too intense for me. I wanted more at one time from you, regardless of your disturbing blood lust, but not now. Not after I saw you willing to beat up a woman in the ring. What kind of gentleman does that?"

"I do." He broke his cane, tossed it in the fire and left.

No fucking for him tonight apparently. Or at least not with Hope.

He charged down the street to get to his mansion. On the way, he bought several different papers from today's market, and took them home with him.

He was a day behind, and that was unacceptable.

Nary a day passed without his thumb being on all the news that passed in print in this town.

Once home, he hid up in his study, lit a cigar and simply inhaled it as the tendrils of smoke wafted around him.

Good enough.

He poured a scotch, and seated himself at his desk.

Time to peruse the papers.

"What in God's name is this?" he shouted.

He stood, hands trembling and spread all five papers out flat, side by side.

His visage was plastered across each front page with a very life-like sketching of him, half nude, chest covered in blood, and him knocked on his ass.

The captions were all similar: Edward Masen, New York's Most Renowned Tycoon, Knocked Off Feet By Unknown Woman.

"Like hell she was unknown! I'll ruin you, mite!"

His glass shattered against the wall, the expensive scotch soaking his Aubusson rug.

**A/N:**

**No visuals or info this time on the blog. Only a teaser for the next chapter.**

**Many thanks to Anakinsmom for stepping up and being a beta on this story. It's always wonderful to have another set of eyes helping me out. And she does a fantastic job. ;D**

**Tell me what you think of Bella laying him out and busting his nose. Too mean? Too nice? Should she have done more?**

**Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews. I love hearing from all of you! Especially a review I got recently that said their banter reminded someone of Doris Day and Rock Hudson movies. I love them! I grew up watching those. What a fabulous compliment. Made me smile.**

**Chanse**


	4. Chapter 4

**WARNING: Mention of abortion in this chapter. It was a common practice back then amongst the poor women to abort a fetus themselves. While there is no abortion in this story, it is mentioned in this chapter at the very end with Rose. I realize this is a sensitive topic and could be upsetting to some but to stay true to the story, it had to be addressed. If you prefer to skip that scene, it won't mess up the story for you. just stop reading when Bella starts speaking to Rose at the end of the chapter.**

**Chapter 4**

Isabella was early arriving at the _Evening Post_. She had her best charcoal, pastels and pencils with her, and she also carried her own paper, but hoped they had some nicer quality paper for her to use.

"Ah, the new girl," a man said, stepping up behind her. "We've all heard about you."

She turned to find a man in a bowler hat, his tie askew and a shrewd look in his eyes.

"Should I be flattered or mortified?" she asked.

"Flattered of course. It isn't often a woman's hired, and especially not with what you do. I'm Josh Templeton, by the way." He shook her hand.

"Ramona Thompson," she said, nodding.

"Don't you mean Isabella?" He winked.

Her breath caught in her throat. "I have no idea what you're talking ab—"

"Come, come . . . We're not all as daft as that. We know who you are. You went from paper to paper, looking for work. We're happy to have you here," he said.

He motioned to the open office before them with scattered desks all around the room.

"I'm curious though, why you were hired. We have a photographer, and we keep them busy. An artist is hardly required, and very archaic in the newspaper industry."

She blinked and held her breath for a moment. When she released it, her thoughts cleared. "Perhaps Mr. Bryant realizes there are times when a photographer is barred from the news, whereas an artist is much more discreet and can safely wiggle their way in to see what is taking place in the middle of the action."

"I heard that is what happened the other night when Mr. Masen was beaten down in a club fight." He smiled at her.

"I lack any knowledge concerning wh—"

"Of course you are unaware. A lady such as yourself?" He was a little too exuberant when he mocked her, pretending to faint.

She laughed anyway though to put them both at ease.

Yes, he was a funny man, but a little too forthright and alarming with how much he knew.

What was his source? He must be a very good reporter to know so much about the goings-on of the city.

And it was a big city.

"Mr. Templeton, I am at your disposal. Are there any stories you need illustrated this morning?" she asked.

"For me?" He burst into laughter. "Why heavens no! I run the newsboys; keep 'em happy, ya know. Don't need another strike on our hands. We're still recovering from the last one from six months ago." He scratched his chin.

"Yes, I can see why the newspaper industry might still be struggling after something as crippling as that."

"It was definitely a difficult time, and I dreaded each day I had to come to work. Mr. Masen was a mess, and Mr. Bryant frightened us all. We worried he might do something drastic like take his life."

She couldn't imagine Mr. Bryant doing something like that, but then she didn't know him very well.

"I'm so glad things are better now—more stable." She paused and glanced around the room. There were people bustling back and forth with papers in their hands. "Can you direct me to someone that can use my services?"

"Certainly," he said. He guided her over to a corner where three men were huddled together, drinking coffee and laughing about something.

"Excuse me, can you help this lady? She's new here—our illustrator," Templeton said.

"Well, la di da," a big man with dark curly hair said.

She frowned. "Nice to see you again."

"You needn't worry I'll rat you out," he said.

"I won't cause any problems, so there'd be no reason to ever rat me out," she said, blinking hard and gulping.

Her palms were sweating. This was the man that had brought her into Mr. Masen's office when she'd demanded her wages.

"Did you ever get your bank note?" he asked.

"Isn't it customary to at least share your name before you ask such personal questions?" she asked.

"Probably." He shrugged.

"You're foolish if you think I'm going to answer you, sir."

"I sent the bank note. It was signed and taken care of, but not by Mr. Masen," he explained.

"Why? Why can't he do this simple thing for me?" She brushed her hands across her skirt. For some reason it made her feel better.

"It's against regulations."

She grimaced. "To sign my particular bank note?"

"Yes." He tipped his head back and wore a worried expression.

"Why can't he just give me my wages in cash like all the other newspapers do?"

"It's against regulations," he repeated.

"Stop saying that!" she shouted, her heel stomping on the floor.

"Yes, well, it's the t-truth," he stammered.

"Fine. So, it's the truth."

"It doesn't matter anyway." He walked away.

What did that mean? Why wouldn't it matter?

Oh no . . .

Was he there at the fight when she won? Did he think she'd taken all that foul money?

Well, this was perfect.

He had no idea what had happened that night. Very few did.

"If you will, Isabella?" one of the men said, gathering his papers and motioning for her to follow him.

Did everyone know who she really was?

She rolled her eyes, clacked her teeth together and traipsed after him.

"I'm the lead reporter here—Richard Clyde," he said, tipping his head at her since his hands were full.

"Nice to meet you. Will you be the one I ask for when I'm ready to offer my illustration services after completing a task?" she asked, barely keeping up with him.

"Yes."

"Good. I'm excited to get started." A pang of guilt hit her gut; she was already disobeying Mr. Bryant's orders for her to report directly to him first thing when she arrived at the paper, but there was something about that man . . .

He stopped abruptly and she almost ran in to him.

"Is there a rodent you've spotted?" she asked.

He turned slowly and gave her a warning glare. "Your job is to draw whatever I want, yes?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"That means your job is also to follow along, keep quiet and stop asking questions. I'm a busy man, and I don't have time for this as this is."

She huffed to herself. Was this what Roman had told her about? This man was incredibly rude, but not nearly as abrasive as the man that now had a broken nose thanks to her.

Papermen. Pah! They were in need of manners.

"Of course. I'll keep quiet and work hard," she replied.

"That would be best." He pointed to an empty desk. "You sit there, and your first assignment is to sketch a rendition depicting a rally for the women's suffrage."

"Please don't do this," she groaned, her shoulders slumping.

"Silence, woman. This is what you're here for—to cover the things nobody cares about."

"Please, give me something else."

His brow popped up. "You don't care about the women's suffrage?"

"Not right now I don't. I need to get noticed. I need my art to matter so I can survive." She smoothed her hands over her hair. It seemed drafty in here, making strays hairs tickle at her neck and face. It was driving her mad.

"And the women's suffrage would help with that. That's what they do, silly woman." He smacked his thigh and then motioned for her to sit down.

"Please, I'm begging you. Give me something bigger. I can handle it." She set her belongings down on her desk—well, all of her art supplies she'd brought along.

"Fine. You can try to handle something similar. How about a sketch for the tenements society? They're meeting next week, and there's a big to-do about which tycoons will be there to donate large sums of money."

She grimaced, her heart twisted, but she went silent. A simple head wag from him and then he left her to her task.

If she kept protesting, she'd be summarily dismissed, and she'd really be in trouble then.

.

.

.

Isabella cleansed her hands and sat down at her table. There was nothing to eat.

Her stomach snarled, and it felt like there were teeth attached to the inner lining.

She grabbed her money bag, thumbed through it, and split it in half.

There wasn't much, but hopefully it would help.

She grabbed her hat, her gloves and shawl, and stepped back out into the umber hued sky.

The pollution was getting worse.

She scampered quickly down Pig Alley, and headed to where she knew she could find her. The woman she was responsible for, living in a nicer area.

_Rap, rap, rap._

The cooling air was already chilling her to the bone.

"Let me in," she said when she heard someone on the other side.

"Go away."

"No. I've got money for you," Isabella said a little quieter so if there were any vagrants about, they couldn't hear her.

The door cracked open and a blonde, beautiful woman gave her a look of reproach. "You know I'm unavailable in the evenings."

"Yes, I know what you're about, but here." Isabella shoved some money through the door and dropped it in her hands.

"You're not my sister anymore. You don't owe me anything." She curled her hand around the money, and failed to offer it back.

"Roman would have wanted me to continue on this way. He cared about you, Rose."

"I know he did. He was the best brother any girl ever had," Rose replied, her eyes misting.

"And he wouldn't want you to live this way. First a burlesque dancer and now this." Isabella motioned over to the man's suit coat lying over the back of a chair.

"Roman's not here to say such things, now is he? I do what I have to so I can avoid living on the streets." Rose clicked her index finger and thumb together, making a sort of snapping sound. It was obvious she was liquored up quite a bit, and her breath reeked of cheap wine.

"_I'm_ not living on the streets, and I don't—"

Rose pushed the door open with a rush. "And some of us weren't educated well, and don't have talents to rely on. All I have is this," she said through her teeth, motioning at her curvy figure.

"You have more than that. Come stay with me. You don't have to expose yourself to the filth of these men." Isabella shook from the cold, a shiver running down her back. Or at least that's what she told herself caused that shiver just now.

"There's no space. You're living in a one bedroom tenement, and there are two other widows there already in the building. They're not going to allow us to stay there based on our word." Rose stumbled for a moment and dropped the coins then braced herself on the wall.

A moment later, she covered her mouth with her eyes wide, and looked ready to vomit.

"No! Are you . . . ?" Isabella backed away. "Get rid of it!" She pointed at her sister-in-law's abdomen.

Rose shook her head then swallowed down what was probably bile in her mouth. She looked green. "I-I'm fine. It's nothing. Just ate something disagreeable."

"You can get rid of it," Isabella repeated. Women aborted all the time.

"There's nothing to get rid of!" Rose yelled, her face going from green to red.

"Rose! Come back to bed," a gentleman caller shouted from the bedroom.

"I'm not at liberty to sit and chat right now, but perhaps you can call on me again in a few days. I'm sure this illness will have passed, and we can talk about how you barely eat because you have no food." Rose's eyes trained on Isabella's skirt. It was entirely too short.

She knew why.

"I'll have food again soon, you just wait and see," Isabella said.

"And until then you're wearing your mother's clothes, who was a good deal shorter than you and tinier about the waist." Rose slurred a little once more, and wobbled.

"It's not what you think."

"I'm sure it's not." Rose slammed the door shut.

Isabella grumbled about ungrateful sisters, and how all she wanted to do was take care of her. She continued to grouse all the way home as she walked a little faster on the way back.

The dark meant shadowy figures in alleyways; the dark meant danger.

**A/N:**

**Oh, I've got a lengthy blog post with all sorts of info for this chapter. There's stuff on the newsboys strike in July of 1899, what the workforce was like, average household income and expenses, how widows usually survived, Pig Alley info (pictures of this location included), and birth control of the day along with why aborting fetuses then was commonplace.**

**Phew! A lot to take in. Just wait until I do my blog post about underwear of the day. :D**

**I also posted a pic on facebook that for some reason, blogger didn't like. Pooh on them. It's what I would imagine Bella capable of submitting to the newspaper.**

**Chanse**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Isabella. The woman he detested more than all others.

The woman that broke his nose and now visited his dreams.

All he could think about was that little woman with the flaring hips and tiny waist. Her buxom figure was haunting him.

Four days now he'd been trapped in his apartment at the top of the world, where he could see all that happened below him, but couldn't follow.

He stared at his reflection in the window.

Two black eyes, a swollen nose and red splotches all around his throat from where she tried to strangle him.

Tried?

A choppy laugh rumbled in his throat. _Succeeded_.

She could have killed him if she'd wanted to.

For some reason she stopped.

And according to his brother, she did not take all of the money from the placed bets she'd earned.

She only took twenty three dollars, twice the amount Edward had owed her for her last set of wages that she'd gotten so upset about.

Edward paced around the room, unsettled.

This woman made no sense.

Most women didn't, but she was exceptionally strange and intriguing, and . . . a little dangerous.

His chest heated thinking about her.

She did not dress in the latest fashions, and it didn't seem to be due to lack of money.

He stood in his underclothes, and the more he thought of her, the harder his cock became.

If she could choke him like that and break his nose without a qualm, what would she be like in bed?

His stomach flipped, he broke into gooseflesh, and that was it.

No more hiding even if his face looked deformed, and he resembled a demon.

He got dressed, pulled on his hat and coat and rather than calling for his personal carriage, he paid for a ride.

The driver was courteous and silent until Edward told him he wanted to get to the lower east side.

"But, sir, it's late!" the driver said, his voice cracking and going up in pitch.

"It is called night for a reason," Edward replied, rolling his eyes and drumming his fingers on the door to the carriage.

"But I . . . It's not safe," the driver said, frowning.

"I'll triple your fee, and you'll leave so quickly no one will bother you." Edward paid the original fee upfront then he waved his wrist for the driver to get going as Edward settled into his seat.

The carriage ride was smooth until they got to the rough, uneven cobblestones of the lower east side.

This rotten, revolting smell of sewage infiltrated Edward's nostrils, and he grimaced then covered his mouth to keep from gagging.

Disgusting. How did she tolerate this?

Edward got out of the carriage the second it stopped, threw the rest of the money at the driver and strolled down the street to where she lived.

Several heads turned in Edward's direction when they saw a man dressed in fine attire on their street, but when they saw his face, they gave him a rather large berth.

Smart people.

He was in no mood to be trifled with.

He was in the mood to fuck. To fuck _her_.

There was no way to stop now. His balls tightened, his legs coiled as he stood before her tenement's door.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap._

His knuckles burned as he hit the door hard.

A young red-haired boy answered it.

"What's ya want?" he asked. "Ma says it's late."

He looked to be about twelve-years-old.

"I'm here to present an easement to the widow, Isabella Swan," Edward lied with a smooth tone.

"Dunno what that means, but okay. You's keep it down, though so my ma don't get mad." He opened the door and let Edward in.

The boy dragged his way back to his own tenement.

Edward waltzed straight up to Isabella's door, and instead of knocking, he tried the knob.

It was locked.

Well, wasn't she the clever one.

He wiped his hand on his pants, soiling them. She'd smeared the handle in grease. He assumed it was to prevent someone from trying to break in like he wanted to do in that moment.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap._

His knuckles stung even more this time since he knocked with a frantic strength.

Nothing.

He knocked even harder.

The red-haired lad poked his head out and scowled.

"Too loud!" he hissed.

"This is rather urgent, and Miss Swan's not answering," Edward told him, his tone patient though he was bursting inside to see her.

"She's slow sometimes. Give her a minute. Ain't nobody here in a hurry," the boy informed him.

Edward tipped his hat and knocked again, but this time quieter.

A moment later, he could hear something scrape on the other side.

"Who's there?" Isabella's voice called through the door without opening it.

"It's Mr. Bryant. You forgot your daily wages today, and I've come to deliver them myself," Edward said, grinning. He leaned forward, his foot right by the edge of the door so when she opened it, he could wedge it in there so she couldn't push him out immediately.

"Mr. Bryant?" her voice shook.

Was she interested in that man? He was married.

A growl built low in his belly.

"I received my wages," she said.

Oh shit.

"There must be some mistake, Miss Swan." He gasped loudly to give more dramatic effect. "Oh no! You must've taken John Roland's! And he has four kids to feed."

The door flung open, and the second he saw her, he failed to set his foot in place, but instead was inside her home, looming over her and closing the door with a predatory smile in place.

"Miss Swan," he lilted, easing his way toward her.

"If I scream, you'll have so many burly factory workers on you, you'll never get out of here without your face being torn to shreds," she threatened.

"You don't need help from them." He pointed at his nose. "You can take care of yourself, can't you?"

She nodded, gulped and backed away. "I don't want you here. And I won't apologize for doing that to you. It was well earned."

"That it was. I'm not here for this. It's not about justice." He moistened his bottom lip and breathed, "It's about _need_. It's about cravings. And I'm an insatiable man."

She looked him up and down. "You're a madman is what you are. Walking around this neighborhood at night dressed like you're going to the opera? Where the hell is your genius businessman sense now?"

"It's in hell, along with my soul. I'm here for you." He reached out and braced her shoulders so she'd stop retreating. "You've bewitched me, mite. And I'm not happy. When I'm not happy, I find a way to fix it. Do you know what that means for you?"

"I know it means I need to keep my door locked next time. How did you even find me?" She glared and stood a little straighter.

Was she trying to be eye-to-eye? Oh this was funny. She would never get past the tip of his chin with those eyes, and that would only be if she was on tiptoe.

His grin was quirked up more on the right as he tipped his head to the side. Maybe if he stood on his head he'd be able to understand her better because she still made no sense at all. He'd just basically threatened to fuck her into the next world, and all she could concern herself with was how he'd found her?

"Isabella, you know how I found you. It wasn't hard. You've applied to work at each of my newspapers. I pulled your file and memorized it. How can you stand living here?" he asked, glancing around. His nose wrinkled again at the faint smells of the outside, seeping in through the cracks. Her house smelled clean, but outside? Wretched streets were defiled by the ghouls around this place.

"I apologize if you burned a few wrinkles off your face by passing through the cloud of filth this place has become, but with only one outhouse for twenty, the smell travels." She knocked her shoulder into the wall then rested there, staring at the floor with a look of shame gracing the corners of her eyes.

"I didn't mean it that way . . ." He stepped closer. "I meant, it's not safe." Though the smell bothered him, he could tell it barely came into her consciousness at all, so he let it go and didn't bother to bring it up and take issue with it.

His hand extended and he curled a loose tendril of hair behind her ear with his fingertips.

Her head snapped up and those eyes went so icy, he swore there was death in her veins. "You yourself just said I can take care of myself. Have you already forgotten how I helped you get reacquainted with the ground? You're aware of what that is, correct? It's the place where us little people dwell, and where you walk as we grovel for you." Her tone was even colder than her expression.

Instead of backing up like he should've, he stepped ever closer to the bear trap this woman was. She was sharp, would make him bleed, of that he was certain, and there would be no breaking free unless she chose to release him.

And these ideas made him smile.

"What have I done to offend you to this spectacular degree? Yes, I know I was slow to pay you, and for that I apologize, but I never meant to take advantage of your services. You're a very talented artist, but there's not a lot of need for that now with our photographers on staff."

She opened her mouth as if ready for a rebuttal, then closed it and her eyes softened. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know _what_? That, yes, you can knock me to the ground by using a surprise attack and being quick about it, but if you were to be outside and a group of men saw you . . . ? My God, I can't stand to entertain the thought of how they might rip into your flesh." He reached out and took her hand in his. It was coated in some type of thick hand cream. Was this what he felt on the door handle out in the hallway?

The thought of it being something repellent like cooking grease went through his mind, but he dismissed it. He'd been fighting the urge to keep away, and now he was at near boiling, so he'd even consider fucking her out in Pigs Alley if that was all he could get from her.

"Isabella . . ." He cupped her palm over his knuckles and kissed the back of her hand then caressed that spot with his lips, running them back and forth. It smelled like cocoa butter.

He gave her a questioning brow.

"Roman gave me a thick emollient so I could keep my hands supple. They get dry from all the drawing, and the charcoal especially leaches the moisture out of my fingers. They would get cracked at the corners of my nails. It could get painful at times." She flinched when he kissed a fingertip.

"Sounds like you were extreme with perfecting your talents and it spared you no mercy." He ran his nose across her knuckles and inhaled deeply. "While I like the idea of you being so focused, I abhor the idea of you ever ignoring me in favor of your art. That is something I cannot abide."

She smirked. "It's a blessing then that this vision is nothing but that. I can't ignore a man I don't see and don't acquaint myself with. You may leave now, and thank you for stopping by to assess my living conditions." She crossed her arms over her chest.

Bad choice.

Too much cleavage for him to resist.

His hands were in her hair at once, pulling it loose so her locks would be free. With a tight growl, he gripped the back of her head and pressed her lips to his.

One of her hands swung out to smack him, but he caught it in the air and tucked her hand behind her neck, never breaking the kiss.

Her other hand did the same. He pinned that one safely away as well.

He pressed her up against the wall, leaned his body into hers and took his time to taste her.

His tongue traced along the seam of her lips, and when they opened, he plunged inside with lush thrusts.

Her breathing was sharp and erratic, spurring him on.

He kicked her legs apart and nestled his thick erection between her thighs.

She whimpered and her weight slackened as if her knees were giving out.

He jutted his hips forward, impaling her, keeping her pinioned up against the wall.

She would not fall unless he wanted her to.

As soon as he loosened his grip on her right arm, she went rigid.

He tested it out and ran his thumb along her jugular.

She made this delicious grinding sound, and her left knee bent, rubbing up against his inner thigh.

A smile broke out over his face as he kissed his way down her jaw. "I knew I could tame this shrew."

She blew out and sighed. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Masen. You've shown this shrew what no other man would. Not even Mr. Stanford in the park. At least he was honest about wanting to treat me like his tart. He offered me more than you have."

He pushed off her and stumbled backward. His heart clenched, and it felt it was oozing down his ribcage like the sludge in the gutters. "You think I mean to treat you like a streetwalker?"

"I think you mean to treat me less than that. You burst into my home all under false pretenses. You kiss me like that and . . ." She turned her head away with a look of disgust tainting her eyes.

He stroked the side of her cheek. "I apologize. I never intended to hurt you. If I was rough it's because . . . Christ!" He kicked the wall next to her leg and the shelf on the wall overhead shook.

A vase fell off and he managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

"You have no reason to be here. You hate this area of town and all who reside here, and nothing you do or say could ever change that." She dropped her head but gave him a cutting look through her lashes. "You like to pull files? Go to the city ordinance archives. Study the year eighteen eighty-one and then you'll know."

She wandered away out of the room, leaving him standing there stiff, holding that vase and unaware of what she was talking about.

.

.

.

"What in the ever loving name of God is this?" Edward barked and pushed off the table.

Along his dining room table were papers upon papers that he personally had made sure would never be found.

He didn't have to go to the city ordinance archives. He practically owned that damn place.

"Gaaaarrrrghhh!" he snarled and snapped his jaws then tore at his hair at the back of his head.

"What did you find?" his brother asked as he entered the room.

"What. Do. You. Need?" Edward gritted. His teeth ground together as his eyes roamed over the papers once more.

"Money."

"It's never enough, is it, Emmett?" Edward's spine stiffened as he rolled his shoulders back.

"It's not for me," Emmett began, coming to his side.

"Then who? Your Rosalie?"

"Not her either . . ."

"This better be important. Tell me who it's for and then how much, and I'll tell you my answer." He looked up though his head was down again, ready to study those damned papers once more. This could not be happening.

"Edward," Emmett groaned, "it's for my tenement. It has a lot of structural defects. It needs some serious renovations. I don't want anyone getting hurt. They're having a tenement society rally next week. I'll be there, but I need to make a donation along with paperwork, money and a guarantee to fix the building."

Edward croaked on a dying laugh. "My Lord . . ." He pushed the papers toward Emmett. "Read this, and you'll know my answer."

Edward got up and paced. He kicked the wall at the edge of the dining room.

"Yes, I know all this. We both do. That's why I need this money," Emmett said, staring at him.

"Do you know who was in that housing disaster on Grand Street?" Edward asked.

Emmett's face went blank. "Why does it matter? We wouldn't have known any of those tenants."

"That's what I thought, too, until a little mite told me to look again." Edward stomped back over to the papers and pointed at the list of those injured, those uninjured, and those that were killed in the process.

"This will take a long time to read. Why don't you just tell me what I'm looking for." Emmett slumped and rolled his back into the chair.

"Right here. Start at this point," Edward said.

"Roman Swan . . . Ohhhh . . ." Emmett trailed off. "Is he . . . related to Isabella?"

"That's her deceased husband," Edward explained.

"No wonder she punched your nose into the wall behind you. Shit, she hates you."

Edward slapped his palm on the paper and then bunched it a little as he picked it up.

"Did you ever ask Rose why she's in that line of work?"

"No. I didn't want to know." Emmett's face paled.

"She's on the list, too." Edward held it in front of Emmett's face. "Toward the middle. A one Rosalie Hale was injured. She hurt her hands, and according to reports it was because she was trying to dig her brother out of the collapsed ceiling debris. It burned her hands, taking chunks of skin off. Apparently where her brother was buried was right near the stove, and there had been active cooking coals in it when the collapse took place. She accidentally put her hands in some of the coals. Her joints were impaired in her fingers from this, so she can't be a factory worker, she can't do anything with her hands. So what did she have left?"

"Jesus!" Emmett closed his eyes and his face scrunched with a look of agonizing pain.

"If Jesus had been there, this wouldn't have happened." Edward dropped the paper and slammed his fist on the table, making it shake. "If _I_ had listened to the complaints that had been submitted two months before the rains fell, this _wouldn't_ have happened. Rose wouldn't have to sell her body, Roman would've lived." And Edward would've been fucked because he wasn't sorry Isabella was without her husband. Then she would've never been free so he could try to make her his . . .

A frisson of fiery terror ran down his spine.

He was truly a monster.

**A/N:**

**Today's blog post covers so much info, I might go cross eyed writing it all. Just know there's stuff about the Edwardian figure, corsets, male underwear, cost of food (along with why Bella's broke), and the 1881 Grand Street Tenement House Disaster that's mentioned in this chapter. There's probably more than that, but, man, I'm tired just reading that little bit right there. Check it out if you need something to put you to sleep. Or if you're like me—it keeps you up because your mind starts whirring and you simply must dig up bizarre pictures for this stuff...**

**Chanse**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Sir, please, I know you just delivered Mr. Masen here and he paid you. He owes me. I only need two dollars. Please," Isabella grabbed at the driver's carriage.

"It's my money, and I won't share it with you. I don't know you," he said, turning his head back to the road.

"I'll repay you at the end of the week. I work here," she said.

"You work here? Then why don't you have your wages already?" The man glared at her.

"Mr. Masen would not sign my bank note, someone else did and there was a problem."

"And now you make this my problem?" He tried to push her hand off his carriage, but she would not budge.

He slapped at her hands, tried harder to pry them off but she had a grip of steel. "Please, no, no, no!" She cried.

"Get off my carriage! Or I'll call the police!"

He took his riding crop and smacked her hands with it. She flinched, but still she clung.

"Two dollars. You can spare it—I know you can. He pays you generously. I saw how much he gave you!" She sniffed and tucked her head down so if he tried to hit her in the face it would hit the back of her head instead.

One of them did hit her head, and her hand reflexively shot out and caught hold of it.

She yanked it out of his hands and held it tight at her side.

"Leave now, and I'll pretend this never happened. I won't alert Mr. Masen of you assaulting me!"

She stiffened, let go of the carriage and backed away with a slight head bob.

He was right.

This was unladylike, unchristian, and her making a scene would most likely get her fired from the temporary job she now held.

As soon as the carriage rolled away from the curb, she took a deep breath and clamped her teeth shut.

Her feet ached, her head pounded and her heart was absent.

God, how she hated that man that had kissed her two nights ago.

Mr. Masen had the audacity to show his face to her at her place.

Why? She still couldn't figure it out, and it was making her crazy.

In the next moment, she was moving. Her legs were traveling while her mind was somewhere else.

Isabella marched through the _New York Times_ building and burst into Mr. Masen's office.

"This is unacceptable!" she shouted, pulling out the bank note and then slapping it down on his desk.

He simply smiled and a low moan reverberated through him.

"What seems to be upsetting you now?"

"This—" she pointed "—was refused. This person you had sign the bank note is not authorized, and the bank charged me for falsifying a document. I was questioned by the police, and threatened to never return there." A tear rolled down her cheek. She refused to swipe it away or acknowledge it. "I owe the bank." Her other fist gripped around the crop she was still holding.

"How much?"

"Damn you and your glib tone. I won't have you pay for my mistake!" She turned to go, giving him her back. "Just give me what you owe me for wages, nothing more!"

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "No, it was my mistake. Forgive me. I thought Emmett was listed at the bank as a signer of promissory notes."

She craned her head over her shoulder, yanked her arm out of his grip and looked him up and down. "Your mistake? I am the one that did not look at whose name was on this paper." She shook her head.

"Isabella . . . Please," he whispered, his tone husky.

"I need the money now. I'll take a beating right this instant if you'll give it to me, and then you won't have to deal with me barging in here again," she said with a soft, pleading tone.

Her ribs shook inside her dress, and she was thankful she had not worn her corset today. It would've been impossible to breathe.

Mr. Masen prowled around the desk, shut the door to his office and shoved his chair under the knob.

Was he making sure no one interfered? How bad would this beating be?

Time to get this over with.

She draped herself over his desk, her breasts smashed into the gleaming wood, her legs spread wide and she set the crop on the desk. After she moved her hair up off her back and neck, she lifted her skirt.

The cool air hit her flesh right away.

"Christ! Where are your knickers?" He gasped.

"I can't afford them, so I go without. Have for some time," she said, her voice muffled a little by the desk, and her crying she hid from him. Tears would not be to his delight. She'd take this beating, and take it like a hardened man. Roman would be proud of her in so doing.

"You want me to spank you?" Edward asked.

"Do whatever you like. I only need that money."

He stepped behind her, and the warmth of his hands on her cheeks made her jump a little.

"I could fuck you—right here, right now, with you stuck to my desk. I'd have you, and you'd be quiet so no one would be aware," he said, his tone menacing.

"You could, but what would that get you? A possible disease? You don't know if I take other men between my legs." He'd know she was bluffing. It was obvious she was frigid and did not look to men for sexual purposes, personal reasons or monetary. "You have no idea who I am." Her voice shook on that one.

His fingers caressed up and down her cheeks and the backs of her thighs as he nestled his hips close, rounded over her back so his lips were at her ear. He was so tall.

Why was he this close? He didn't like her, just as she despised him. If this was about the carnal need to fuck, he should just do it and be done before someone came knocking on his door.

"I know who your husband was. I pulled files, as you encouraged. Eight years, Isabella," he said like she was a drug, something he was dying to possess and get into his veins. "That's how long you've been without, and that hole's got to be tighter than a—"

"It's not," she said, lifting onto her toes to encourage him to punish her now. Enough talk! "It's old, loose and used, but if it's what you so desire . . ."

"I cannot believe a twenty-five-year old mite like you would be anything other than exquisitely tight and so ready to give a man of some means a chance to feel it."

She turned her head, tears be damned on her moistened cheeks, and she stared at him in disbelief. "Are you offering to keep me at your leisure—to fuck when you please for money and comfort in return?"

_Swaaaaack!_

He smacked her ass, but it was playful and sent tingles straight to her puss, making it jolt.

"I'm offering you whatever you want, to be near me. To smile when I need it, to speak your mind when I ask, and to accompany me to social functions when they're required."

"Yes, you're asking me to be your call girl."

_Swaaaaack!_

The other cheek rippled and then sang, vibrating her clit.

She choked on her inhalation on that one and her toes wobbled. After she regained her balance, she stayed propped up for him.

"You don't even know me, sir. You have no notion how I'd get along in a public environment when you're on display, and don't you think people would notice you have a peasant on your arm?"

"Forgetting who owns these papers? Who controls what goes to print and what does not?" He smirked.

He gripped her hips, dragged her toward him, her skin making a squeaking noise as she was pulled across the polished desk.

His fingers glided over her waist, up her ribs and then he took her shoulders in his large hands and tugged her up to standing. He was pressed flush against her now.

Oh God . . . One hand was in her hair, keeping it out of the way. A chill burst across her upper back as he pelted her neck with his breath.

He decorated her nape with feather light kisses and whispered some things that were mostly inaudible.

Her legs shook as he stooped over her and said something about a damned woman that burst her way into his life, evaporated and invaded his mind.

His erection was poking into her bared cheeks as her skirt pooled down the sides of his thighs.

She went from chilled legs to feeling like they were on fire.

"Please," she moaned. "Please, God . . ."

"Isabella, I won't touch you unless you ask. I'll let my soul break in two before I take you against your will, and you clearly do not want me between your thighs, but I can't . . . Fuck!" He turned his head away and then slumped into her, settling his cheek on the back of her shoulder.

"What can I . . . Did I . . ." Her thoughts galloped away from her. "I just need to eat." As if her stomach heard her, it growled and clenched.

"I know. I saw you at the market yesterday, trying to negotiate for two potatoes. They turned you away," he said with a slight hitch in his voice.

She rounded on him, eyes storming. "What? You followed me?"

"To make sure you were safe. You shouldn't be roaming those streets alone," he said, his face falling.

"I live there. I know where to traverse and when to tread in a different direction." She pointed in his chest, jabbing her finger in. "These people are my community, my friends, and my family, and they certainly pay me whenever I work diligently to provide them with a service."

"I'm not . . . I may act like a cur most days, but I . . . I cannot explain it, but I am miserable for you. Tell me how I might attain your affections. What must I do?"

She stepped away from him. "There is nothing to be done. I do not like you. Not only are you a heel, chasing women and never caring about them, but you stand against everything I hold dear!"

"Roman," he began, but she put up a hand to stop him.

"Don't you speak his beloved name. God rest his soul, and God do nothing to rest yours when you pass from this miserly world into the next."

He licked his lips and took a deep breath. "I will fix what I have done."

"You can't. There is no way to mend the past."

"There is. But there is," he said, inching forth. He held a hand out. "I wish to prove to you my worth."

"All of New York knows your worth, sir, and I am unimpressed. Your fixtures, your tailored suits and fine carriages mean nothing to me." She held up her stained hands and flipped them over so he could see every angle. "I care about what these hands do to make other people's lives better. I care about how they treat people."

She picked up the crop, smacked him across the thigh with it.

"I see you care to be a vigilante as well?" He grinned. "Righting unseen justices perhaps?"

"I can't tolerate your tone." She stood taller, leaned toward him, her face a few inches from his. "You sicken me worse than the smell of the alleys I pass through to get to my humble house that I adore."

All at once, he gripped her chin, his lips were on hers, and her breath was stolen away.

When he broke away he groaned, "God help me, I cannot keep away. Your fire draws me!"

Then he had the crop out of her hands, slapped it on her bottom, dropped it then groped her with a lascivious look. His tongue was on her neck, and she melted into a specious moan he shared.

Was he really . . . Did he . . . ?

Oh his touch. His fingers were strangely comforting which disturbed her beyond measure. How did he do this?

She clung to him worse than she had the carriage. Her neck was tipped back against her will and his tongue drifted down to her cleavage.

"I _will_ have you, Isabella, and you _will_ want it. You will want _me_!"

Less speaking! For his lips needed to be on her; please, God.

She gripped his hair, took his mouth and placed it back over hers. He swallowed her whimpering, decidedly obscene moans.

When he had her backed up against the edge of his desk, his hips rocking into her, he yelped.

She realized she had scraped her nails across the back of his neck.

"You like it rough and raw, and that's what you know I'll give you if you want it," he said under his breath. "Should I lift your skirts back up? Now that I know you're without knickers, I have access if you'll grant it. Do you? Are you . . . Oh, Christ, I know your puss is slick for me. I can taste it in the air, feel it in your pounding breaths. Tell me how slippery it is between your lewd thighs."

She readied to smack him but resisted because for some baffling reason, his talk edged her closer to an explosive moment of pleasure.

Never had her body moved like this, panted for a man.

"You think me wanton," she breathed, blinking away tears rushing to her eyes.

"I think you wanton for me and me alone. You want my cock, and want it more than a few meager potatoes to fill your belly, for you know when you have me, nothing will taste the same. Your vision on life will change."

"I do not want your money, sir. I can survive without you," she hissed, yanking at his bow tie.

She had it off a second later, and he ripped it out of her hands, jerked her around so she was facing away from him and proceeded to tie her wrists together behind her back.

"Is this how you want it? Me overpowering you and springing free that caged lioness within you? You've never had this, and I can tell because you're so goddamn hungry for it, you've failed to breathe this entire time I've been binding you."

She gasped and took a huge stuttering breath; her heart rate tripled in that moment.

"You already want me more than air, and next I'll supersede drink and water; sleep will follow, and you will find yourself at my door, begging for my cock to give you relief." He spun her back around and his fingertips ghosted over her breasts. She leaned into his very slight, very naughty, teasing touch.

"It won't be slow. It won't be womanly like you had from Roman. It'll be dirty, explosive and take over every sense you own. That's what I give to you—not money, not comfort, not—"

"_Love_ . . . ?" she supplied, forming the end of his sentence.

"Is that what you look for?" He leaned over, dipped his head down and inhaled deeply at her bosom.

"I look for honesty, integrity and goodness. Can you offer those things without requiring your money bag?"

He blinked, tugged at her bound wrists behind her, and as he reached around, she whimpered. His chest was pushing into her taut, throbbing nipples.

God in heaven he smelled of an impossible erotic promise—the thrill of a masculine fucking, and nothing she'd ever known or even dared think about.

She tried to be discreet as she inhaled deeply. He ripped her binding off her wrists in the next moment and was gone away from her, pacing near the door.

"You will come with me next Thursday night to the tenement society rally. You are to be polite, a gracious date, and I will make sure you always have full wages each week you work for me." He stared at her like she best not trifle with him, that he was in earnest about this.

In a moment of recklessness, she threw herself at him and secured one more kiss.

"You shall never own me, Mr. Masen, I am not for purchase."

"Ah, but you are not required to be for me to buy your resolve and dash it to pieces. It is obvious you are indeed in want of relief." He chuckled.

That was all it took for her to remember how foul this creature was before her.

"I will never dishonor the memory of my late husband."

"Why do you kowtow to a man you did not love?" He grabbed a cigarette out of his suit pocket, lit it and took a seat on the edge of his desk.

"How dare you! You fiendish, horrible brute! I loved him with all the breadth of my soul!" Her face heated and the she could feel the angry vein in her neck throbbing.

"Then you had little soul at that point in time, because you did not find satisfaction in his sheets, madame. It is plain to see he did not rouse the woman in you that I have ascertained you to be. You are a wild one—a woman of sensual delights, and I hope to discover them all one at a time." He spiraled a puff of smoke into the air.

"You are no man to talk! Flitting from trollop to trollop, obviously finding no balm for your soul, or your manhood as well. Of course you would probably blame them, when you must lack the skills to gratify either them or yourself."

"Try my manhood and find the results for yourself." He smirked and kicked the ashes off his shoe that had fallen from the end of his cigarette.

"My keen eyes know a liar when they see it. You are all braggart and sway, and the day I allow you into any part of my person is the day I cease to be me." She cocked her head at him, grinned and left.

.

.

.

"This is too much, Edward!" Emmett handed the money back.

"Take it. Make sure it is parceled out between all four of our tenements, and I want this one bought immediately," Edward said, pointing at the gridded map of New York.

"Why that one? It's in the worst area of the lower east side." Emmett leaned over it, squinting and studying it as if looking for some unattainable answer.

"That building is in the most dire need of repair and will cost substantial sums of money to fix it. Who else in the city can afford to do it other than you or myself?"

"The Vanderbilts, the Ashfords, the Lento—"

"Yes, yes, I know there are others that can afford it," Edward waved him off, "but I meant who will care and see to it that it's done properly?"

"Oh, I see." Emmett smirked.

"You do not _see_ anything at all," Edward said, putting out his fourth cigarette for the day. That damn woman had him smoking a lot more than was prudent, but his groin was screaming at him and so was his head. The only thing that quenched it even a little was his cigarettes, so he partook, and did it freely.

"You have a new favorite whore who lives there. Hope has barred you from her bed, so you must find comforts elsewhere."

"Yes, well . . ." Edward turned away and stared out onto the floor office. His drapes were turned aside, and there stood Isabella outside his window, taunting him with her hourglass curves and infuriating attitude of nonchalance.

Days had gone by and not a word from her. Tomorrow he was to pick her up and have her attend the tenements society rally with him.

God willing, she'd go with him without much fuss.

He smiled at her.

She ignored him.

Good Lord, she was fun to torment and pursue though. He could not deny any aspect of the fun of the chase.

His fist clenched when she allowed Josh to set his hand on her arm.

"Who is this new strumpet? Someone I know?" Emmett asked from afar.

"No one you would know, but Rosalie might. Why don't you ask her how often I attend to that area?"

Emmett huffed. "You know she lives in a much better neighborhood than that. I would never allow my woman to live in such ratty conditions."

"You have no say, dear brother." Edward chuckled. "You like to pretend you have the reins in hand, but they have clearly been passed to your little lady with child. How goes the pregnancy?" He turned and gave Emmett a knowing look.

"She refuses to talk about it, though I know it is my child in her belly." Emmett flinched for a moment.

"How do you know this? Has God told you such things himself?"

"No." Emmett harrumphed a laugh. "I only know when I was spilling myself inside her several times a week, she was different."

"How so?" Edward paced—something he was becoming familiar with as of late.

He tried to ignore that clawing feeling in his body to go back to the window and stalk the woman on the other side of it, observe what men she conversed with, allowed to be near her.

He could gain knowledge on what attributes she found most attractive and then he could amplify them in himself.

But then that was dishonest, and she would discover his ruse and find it intolerable.

It was amazing how well he knew her personality when he had really spent so little time with her.

He'd spent hours with his previous whores, especially Hope, and he would have never cared or taken the time to really know them. If they liked brandy, yes, he was aware of that, or if they smoked, he knew that, too, but if they wore knickers during the day when he was gone from their presence, well, that he was oblivious to.

What did they eat?

What did they do when their hair fell in their eyes and tendrils had loosened from their hairstyle?

Did they wear a corset?

Isabella had worn one the first time she'd burst into his office, but since that time . . .

Her nipples were always delicious, protruding in his direction, and her ankles were always on display. Her cleavage found a way to pile up at the top of her dresses no matter how loose or tight fitting they were. She licked the right corner of her lip when she was furiously sketching in the office.

She used the heel of her hand to move nuisance hairs out of her face, and she smelled of lavender, womanly spices and faint traces of cocoa butter. It was obnoxious how much he craved that scent of hers.

Isabella. God, how he ached and almost limped along for her.

Without another thought, he turned back to the window.

She turned away as soon as he looked at her, and she bit into an apple in the most lewd manner possible.

"Christ almighty—want _her_," he groaned at the back of his throat.

"I am certain you do," Emmett said, patting his brother on the back.

Edward jumped. How did Emmett get over to him without Edward hearing it?

"But a whore living in a dilapidated building does not need your help in that way. Get her out of there. Make her move. You can determine where she lives. I've done that with my Rose. She is living closer to me now, in an even safer environment, and—"

"Closer to all her other clients as well. Thanks to you, they do not have to travel down seedy pathways to get to her. If you have more access, so do they. You've made it more convenient for them." Edward patted his brother's shoulder the way Emmett had on his back.

"No, you misunderstand, oh wise one." Emmett chuckled. "I have moved her into my home. She is to be my wife forthwith, and I'll keep her away from all who knew her. She is mine."

Edward snorted. "Yes, I am confident that will be the way of it."

Emmett shrugged and beamed at him.

As soon as he left, Edward placed a call to a Mr. William Cullen Bryant, running the _Evening Post_—one of the papers Edward had recently acquired.

Isabella would be at Edward's disposal as much as possible.

**A/N:**

**No blog post today, sadly, but I do have many thanks to offer to my beta, Anakinsmom.**

**And thank you to all of you who are reading this and telling others about it. ;D**

**Chanse**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"You's here to pick up Miss Swan?" the red-haired boy asked after opening the hallway door.

"Yes, sir, I am." Edward bowed and smirked.

"Tommy's my name, and I wants ya to know, she's a nice lady. Nothing bad 'bout her, so you's better be polite and decent to her, or I'll find someone to hurt ya." Tommy pointed at him with an accusing finger.

"On my honor, she will be as safe as she ever is," Edward promised. It was easy to do since there was no telling how safe she truly was, living in this deplorable place. His promise did not include, however, the way she would be treated in a sensual manner by him.

By his estimation, she was in danger most of her day by merely being near him.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap._

Edward's new, pristine cane knocked on her door, making it rattle a little.

He smiled. If he wanted to crack that door into kindling he could without much effort.

And it might be worth it to see her shocked, angry expression.

That woman was more than enticing when enraged.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap._

"Isabella, it is I, Mr. Masen," he called out through the door.

Tommy was staring until Edward cut him a curt look over his shoulder.

"Is she at home?" Edward asked him.

"I ain't her keeper." Tommy shrugged. "But I did hear someone leave earlier. It might've been her. I'n it a weeknight? Probably not her."

Edward glowered. "Would anyone else in this tenement know who left?"

"Nope. We don't pays much attention to stuff like that." Tommy went back into his hovel and shut the door.

"Stubborn woman." Edward left in a rush, paid his driver extra to get him to Central Park for the tenement society rally.

She had better be there, and when he found her, there would be many words exchanged about his displeasure with her.

When the carriage rolled to an abrupt stop, he groaned.

"I can't go any further, sir," his driver called out.

"Fine," Edward said, getting out and paying him another two dollars. "Park nearby. I'm uncertain how long I'll want to stay here."

His driver nodded and drove off.

"Need to get a motorcar," Edward said to himself as he drifted into the park—alone.

Damn woman. She was told not to embarrass him, and already he was uncomfortable, walking solo down the lit up path.

Evening was closing in.

When he got to the Bethesda Terrace, overlooking the lake, he searched for her.

There was quite a gathering though, of rich and poor, tenants and landlords.

"Mr. Masen, I'm so glad you're here!" a woman called out.

Oh splendid. Vivian.

He pretended he had not heard her and roamed in the opposite direction.

Before long, he was accosted by another of his previous whores.

This was why he rarely came to functions where there would be people such as this.

_Flasssh!_

A photo was snapped, and he covered his eyes.

He wandered under the lower Terrace into the passageway.

"I said I am uninterested in you," a familiar voice said from the shadows.

There was a woman, pushing away a man that was being entirely too friendly.

Clearly it was an unwelcome advance.

"Isabella, you are my date," the man said.

Isabella? Edward went erect in his spine and cock right away.

Then his chest tightened when he realized some man was touching what was his.

"Back away," Edward growled, approaching them.

"Mr. Stanford, please leave," Isabella said, pointing out to the fountain.

"You asked for this—you wanted to be here. I paid you to be my date!" the man howled.

"You did not! You paid for the meal, and that was all," she argued.

Edward gripped the man by the shoulder and yanked him away. "If you do not leave, I will be forced to shove my fist into your face and drown you in the fountain so your brain will quit being so dusty and dry."

"I do not need your help," Isabella told Edward, glaring at him.

"You most certainly do." Edward made sure to follow Mr. Stanford out of the passageway.

"You owe me two dollars for your meal," Mr. Stanford hollered at her before leaving.

Edward pulled five dollars out of his pocket and thrust it at this imbecile before him. "There. More than enough for your meal and your trouble. Go find another woman to proposition. There are plenty of them out there." Edward bared his teeth at him.

Stanford stared at her for a moment and then a look of resignation washed over his features. "Goodbye, you filthy tart."

"What did you say?" Edward barked.

"Nothing that involves you!"

Edward stepped out, got right in front of Stanford and slipped a knife up against his ribs in a way that no one else could see. "Say that again, you miserable shit."

"Fuck if I'll say anything to you. She wanted this—she wanted _me_, but she's playing coy, the little slut."

"She's the most honest woman I've ever met. She doesn't lie, and if she says she doesn't want you, then it's the truth. Now, if you get near her again, I'll ruin you for the rest of your days." Edward shoved off him, hid his knife back away, and went back to Isabella.

She was fuming quietly in that passageway, people-watching.

There were so many ambling around out there, it was more than distasteful to him. He hated large gatherings like this.

He licked his lips; the hint of a taste of blood on them. He almost spilled Stanford's, and it would've been more than a pleasure.

Tonight he needed to fight.

His fingers trembled as he reached out and asked, "Can I hold you? You're shaking."

"You are, too," she replied.

"That's a yes if ever I have heard one."

She chuckled, and he wrapped her up in his arms. "Are you all right? Did he harm you?"

"Not my body," she said.

"How did he hurt you then?"

"Edward," she wiggled out of his arms. "Did you not hear what he called me?"

"What? A little slut?"

Her brow furrowed. "Is there anything viler than a prostitute?"

"I can think of many things viler than that." He ran his hands over her shoulders. She was dressed in a stunning blue dress that was form fitting and showed a hint of cleavage. Her black shawl accented it nicely. No wonder Stanford was a raving beast with her. Who could keep their hands off her when she looked this way? Her hair was down in long, sienna ringlets, and her eyes sparkled in this low light.

The way her skin glowed was more than enticing, and as he ran a finger across her collarbone, it pinked deliciously.

"That is hardly a comforting thing to say." She stared at the fountain while he gaped at her.

This was fortunate since his eyes were fixated on her breasts, and he was harder than the stone of that statue out there.

"What are your thoughts?" she asked.

"I am wondering why you chose over me, the company of a man you knew wanted to pay you for services and wanted nothing more than that. I already told you I would only touch you when you wanted it."

Her eyes moved to his, and he lifted his gaze to a more appropriate level. "Yet you touch me now, and I did not request it."

"Your body and your eyes did," he responded, his index finger tracing along the dip in her throat.

"So it does not need to be a verbal request?"

"That helps, and a moan is always the most preferable invitation, but I am open to any hint or motion of desire from you." He exhaled in a rush when her breasts heaved up at him. "Do you know how much I crave your tantalizing touch? How I must take my own flesh in my hands because I cannot stop fantasizing about your breasts, about your puss, and being this close to you?"

"You shouldn't speak of such common, base things. It's crude and shows a lack of respect for me," she said, her voice low and shaky, filled with what sounded unmistakably like lust.

"I have scandalized you, have I? I thought you were built of firmer stuff than that. A woman that throws a punch and is more than happy to abase herself in a fisticuffs fight, should not be so shocked when a man expresses a desire to make love to her." He ran his nose along the edge of her ear. "Or be shocked when his arousal is easy to see by all around him. Shall I parade you about out there whilst I have you on my arm and let everyone around me know how much I die to have you?"

"You do whatever you like, sir, for I mean to mingle and help with the betterment of society." She stepped away from him.

"Difficult woman, how you try me," he hissed under his breath.

He tipped his head back and swallowed.

A moment later, he chased after her. She was very fast and agile, weaving through the crowd.

She stopped at the front of the fountain and wore a truly glorious smile as she gazed upon the statue.

"Isabella, so good to see you," the blond doctor from the hospital said, seeking her out.

What was his name? Charles? Carl?

Oh yes . . .

Edward wound his way behind the man, clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Well, hello there, Carlisle. So good to see you as well. Isabella here was finding a good spot for us as we meet with the community."

Carlisle's expression was unreadable. "Of course. Mr. Masen, I'm so pleased you're taking an interest in the tenements involved here today."

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Yet you have—yearly. I am here every time, and have never seen you here before," Carlisle pointed out.

Edward's eyes narrowed. "I have on occasion sent ambassadors in my place, but I am always abreast of what transpires and always generous with my donations."

Carlisle turned his attention back to the lovely woman standing with them. "I have been informed you helped to design this sculpture."

She blinked and looked concerned. "And who has been spilling my secrets?"

"That is not something I can divulge." Carlisle chuckled. "Can you confirm the validity of this accusation?"

""Tis true. I worked with Emma Stebbins for a few years at the end of the project's completion, but I refused to take credit. It was her design, and I only made sure it was in alignment with the values of the people here."

"But you sent several sketches to help modify it, correct?" Carlisle's face was all teeth now, his smile so wide.

Edward's chest constricted and he took her arm and draped it over his to show this man she was undeniably Edward's.

Carlisle persisted: "How could you be so modest and deny credit for this masterpiece?" His hand flew out to point at the statue. "It's breathtaking. I come here any time I am aggrieved over a patient I am struggling with. In fact, I came after you were released from the hospital." His eyes fell on Edward.

"Oh, come, come, I was not that disagreeable." Edward smiled.

"No, but I was upset this dear lady overpaid your fee for the hospital's services in regard to your welfare. I had no way to contact her and give her back the surplus." His body turned toward her and he leaned forward, whispering. "I hope you do not mind, but I donated that money to this gathering for today."

She positively beamed at this rotten bastard, stealing the attention away from Edward.

"That's wonderful! I couldn't think of a better use of that money. It wasn't really mine anyway. I don't believe in betting, and some people insisted I'd won it and thrust it at me."

"Gambling is such a filthy habit—it's acid to one's soul, don't you agree?" Carlisle asked him.

"I think it depends on the man. Some cannot tolerate losing and become nasty and embittered over it, but there are other men made of sterner stuff that can be resilient and find some good in the sport."

Carlisle burst into a roaring laugh. "Spoken like a true man swimming in obscene wealth."

"I have less time than you both to attend to these matters, so if you don't mind, I shall mingle now," Isabella said and tried to move away.

Edward's steely gaze cut into her. "We shall take leave of you now, good doctor," he told Carlisle but kept his eyes on her and his hands dug into her forearm. She was not to get away again.

_Flaaaaash! Flllaaaaash!_

Several cameras went off, and he knew this was going to be difficult to deny and keep out of the papers tomorrow.

"Minx—you paid for my hospital stay? Should I start calling you the Good Samaritan instead of mite?" Edward whispered in her ear, leaning very close to her. Closer than was needful.

"If I ever care what you call me, I will let you know. For now, you do and say what you like. I'm impervious."

He bit his fingers into her wrist where he'd bound her with his tie a few days prior, and her pupils dilated immediately as her breath hitched.

"I see . . . And you do not care if I try to do what Stanford did in that dimly lit space?"

"You already know the answer to that." She stepped forward and greeted someone by their first name. It must have been a neighbor or someone from her daily travels because they seemed very familiar.

"Kathy, please, I want you to meet Mr. Masen. I believe he owns your tenement," Isabella said, smiling but going stiff at his side.

"Good to meet you," Kathy said. She reached out to shake his hand, and he refused to reciprocate.

"I hope you understand—I only shake when doing business, and this is all about pleasure," he excused himself.

She nodded and gave a short curtsy then said, "We have a list of suggested improvements for you that I hope you will give some serious thought and attention."

"I will. Direct me to it, and I shall endeavor to go over all the specifics with great care." Edward halted his thoughts when Isabella suddenly jerked her head at him. "Is something amiss?"

"Yes." Isabella blinked and her face paled.

"What is the matter?" Kathy asked.

"Did you not hear that announcement just now?" Isabella sucked in a tight breath.

"It is hard to hear anything out here with all this noise," Edward said. He hated being unaware of anything, especially when he was near her. She somehow seemed to have the upper-hand consistently with him.

It had to cease.

"Some anonymous person has donated thousands of dollars to the restructuring of this very tenement we are discussing, and even more was donated to my building." Isabella's eyes lit up, and she hopped adorably at his side.

He fought off a smirk. His gratitude toward his brother had reached a new level.

This had to be without her knowledge. If Isabella knew, she'd think it a trick.

"Thank you for taking the time to be here, Mr. Masen, but I simply must steal Isabella for a moment. I need her for something," Kathy said, motioning with urgency to a group of people, charging their way.

He was about to refuse but Isabella was off his arm and running away without sparing him a glance.

His heart stopped when Josh approached her.

That man was going to be fired tomorrow if he was anything other than simply cordial and polite with her.

Edward was swallowed up seconds later by two ladies, one of them the whore he disregarded earlier.

He groaned and realized there was no way to get out of this, so he somehow maneuvered them back to the spot he had been with Isabella earlier.

They were under the passageway, and he hated being unable to see Isabella from this point, but this had to be dealt with.

"Edward, this has to be a nuisance for you. Let me pleasure you," Aurora said.

"Not right now," he said, taking out a cigarette and lighting it.

"But anyone can see how tense you are, and I'm certain I can help," Vivian said, batting her lashes at him.

"I'm certain you are in need of money, so take some and leave me be." He pulled out some cash and handed them both four dollars each.

They smiled and clapped like children.

"We will see you later, then?" Vivian called after him.

"We shall see," he said without thought and took leave of them.

The second he was back out in the crowd, he could feel someone's eyes on him.

He turned, and Isabella scowled.

That was the last thing he saw before she dissolved back into the crowd and was gone.

.

.

.

"That insidious, disgusting man! Why did I ever . . ." she trailed off as she eased her way through the dark trees of Central Park.

When she was out on the street, she saw the unmistakable back of her sister-in-law, and she seemed to be running from something or someone.

Isabella chased after her.

"Rose, stop!" she called.

Rose ran faster.

Why did her sister-in-law have to be so tall with such long legs? It was impossible to match her stride.

"Rose! It's me—Isabella!" she tried again.

Rose looked over her shoulder, ran into an alleyway but peaked out then waved her over to join her.

"Are you hiding from someone unsavory?" Isabella asked her.

Rose shook her head and tried to regain her breath. "It's a man that thinks he owns me, but he's not a bad man."

"You say that about all of the men that fawn all over you," Isabella retorted, her expression turning sour.

"Well, it's true . . . Most of the time." Rose fanned herself with her gloved hand. She was attired in some of her fanciest clothes.

"You did not want to take this one home with you, though. Why?"

"He's seen too much. He knows more than I can allow, so I had to evade him when I saw him on the street." Rose glanced behind them. They were alone. "You must go to the club on 72nd Street tonight. I need you to sketch who is there, especially politicians."

"Rose . . ." Isabella groaned. "We have been through this before—I cannot tolerate being in those awful places."

"It is your job as a reporter to go where the action is, correct?" Rose pursed her lips and her eyes scrunched.

"Yes, but I'm not a reporter. I'm an illustrator," she reminded her sister-in-law.

"Then illustrate. There's a man in particular I need to have knowledge of. His name's Murray Hall. I need you to draw him and any woman he shows any overt interest in."

"I have no money. How am I to get inside?"

"Here," Rose shoved some money in her hand, "use this. It should suffice."

"I'm not taking money from _you_! I give you portions of my wages weekly, hoping it will dissuade you from this god-awful lifestyle you've fallen into. It's not right. You must know God forbids this kind of—"

"What? The _God_ that took my brother away? That damaged my hands so I'd be no use to anyone, all because I tried to rescue the only family I had left?"

"You were not the only one that lost all family that day."

"Yes, I know. Your parents were a great loss, and I grieve them, too, but I'm sorry, I am a selfish creature. Roman took care of me. He always did, and when papa died, I knew I would still be okay because I had the best older brother in the world." Rose's eyes misted.

"I know how difficult this all is for you. That you're not really meant for hard labor, but there are still other options," Isabella pleaded, her eyes watering as well.

"Not for me there aren't. I shan't do anything other than this. I love what I do. Men adore me. They lavish me with attention and jewels." Rose's face lit up.

And they supplied her with her addiction to laudanum.

Isabella could never forget that unspoken portion.

"Okay, I will go tonight. I will keep an eye out for you. I do not understand it, but I won't question."

"That's best. I wouldn't answer anyway." Rose leaned forward and laid a peck on her cheek.

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Isabella asked her.

"No, just swap clothes with me. Then he can't find me again." She removed her thick shawl.

Isabella gave her an incredulous look, eyes slanted toward her nose, and brow deeply furrowed.

"That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said to me."

"Just do it. Stop judging me, and give me your dress," Rose said.

She put her handbag down along with her parasol, and turned around so Isabella could free her of her outfit.

Her golden curls were piled up on her head and out of the way, but still . . . This was . . .

"Anyone can walk by and see this if they have a mind to," Isabella warned as her trembling fingers unlaced Rose's dress.

"Let them. Maybe they'll pay us for the view." Rose chuckled.

"Good God, that's beyond reprehensible. Thank the Lord I have some morals and can at times share them with you."

"Move faster and you won't have to share your humiliation since we won't be unduly discovered." Rose was laughing now, mocking her.

"Whatever made you think this was a good idea, I shall never understand."

Rose's dress was off and now it was Isabella's turn, only she didn't require assistance.

She was able to remove it quickly, they swapped dresses and shawls then Rose helped her fasten the sumptuous dress on.

"God, you look better than any strumpet I've ever seen. You could fetch a fortune with breasts like those," Rose mused.

"Quiet. I'm already mortified enough without your observations."

She was in the crimson, tight dress, and ready to go.

"I'm not taking your purse and parasol. I have no need of them," Isabella told her.

"How lucky for me since I was not inclined to give either of them up." Rose stuck out her tongue and strolled out of the alleyway. At the last moment she turned around and called out, "Straight to the club. Don't go home. There's no time to dally."

Isabella grunted as her feet took off out of this dark, suffocating passageway.

Things fared worse for her as she entered the club.

This was the direction she'd been heading away from when she saw the person she felt responsible for: Rose.

She was admitted without issue, removed her shawl at the door and found a corner to hide in.

What was she to do, though? She had no ink, pencil or paper.

Great planning on her part.

Why did she ever listen to Rose?

She took a seat at a table and immediately a gentleman approached her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, tipping his bowler hat at her. He had a rakish smile, dark, deep-set eyes, and broad shoulders that stretched his coat wide.

"You may. Thank you." She nodded in kind.

"What can I get you?"

"How about a beer?"

The right side of his lips quirked up, and then he exhaled. "A beer. I can get that for you."

He left, and while he was gone, another man stared at her from the next table over.

"You don't wanna do that," he said, his voice higher pitched than most men she'd ever met.

"Do what?"

"Encourage that oaf. He's impossible to fight off once you get a few drinks in him. He's overzealous in his pursuits of a good-looking woman, and you are better than most that come here."

"I suppose you want to buy me a drink in his stead?" She was obnoxious with how she feigned batting lashes at him.

He chuckled. "Nope. I only wanted to warn you since you're new. I've got me a woman."

"Congratulations. Maybe you can ask her if there's a way I can procure some type of writing implement and a few sheafs of paper?" She used the sweetest tone she could conjure up.

"I can get that for you, but while I'm gathering it, you might want to move to a different spot, before Roland comes back. He really is quite the uncouth scoundrel." He smiled.

"Isn't that the point of this establishment? A place for them to roam free and unfettered?"

He slapped the table and laughed. "Why, I suppose it is." He tipped his head back and when it went back to a level position, he winked at her. "I like you. And I don't say that about many people. I think my Cecilia would like you, too."

"And you are?"

"Murray Hall. Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Isabella paused. "May I join you and your Cecilia?"

Murray gave her a suspicious scowl.

"I mean, if it wouldn't trouble you?"

"I don't know—she gets rather jealous, but I daresay, I like it when she's envious. It brings out the green in her eyes, and she gets all randy afterward."

Isabella heard traces of a Scottish accent there.

"Then it's a deal. I'll sit at your table, keep her on high alert; you'll get me some paper and a pencil, and I'll keep Roland at bay. I think this evening is turning out rather nicely." Good Lord she was starting to sound like Mr. Hall and she'd barely met his acquaintance.

"It is." Murray got up and left.

She immediately took a seat at his now vacant table.

**A/N:**

**Blog post today has information on the Bethesda Terrace in Central Park and the passage underneath, along with visuals of the fountain and the passageway. They're pretty breathtaking. I never knew those existed until I started doing research for this story. Now I want to go there and visit so I can see with my own eyes. Also, included some information on how run-down the park was at this point and how no one paid it any heed. That was something I had been unaware of until now as well.**

**Maybe my Edward will meet my beta, Anakinsmom under that passageway to thank her for serving this story well and being my beta. Thank you for your help! Much appreciated.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chanse**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Cecilia, this is Miss Isabella Swan. She's in need of protection from the likes of Roland," Murray said.

"That's what every woman needs. How fitting you should do that for her," Cecilia said, staring at Murray and smirking.

Murray set the paper and pencils in front of Isabella on the table.

She tried to listen to what they were saying, but as soon as she took to sketching, her mind was elsewhere.

Her eyes traveled around the room, but really, she was torn as she searched for the man she hated above all others.

Nonetheless, she squirmed at the mere thought of his being here.

It was difficult to see him with those two beautiful women at the tenement society rally when it was so plain they were there to openly solicit business as a couple of strumpets.

It was also easy to see he'd been intimate with each of them at some point.

Her mouth went dry and her throat constricted as she tried to swallow.

They were everything she would never be—sensual, largely seductive, wild and free.

Isabella was more chained down on her own than if she'd been locked inside a cage.

She nibbled at the inner edge of her lip as she concentrated a little harder on her drawing. If Murray and Cecilia figured she was drawing them, she might cause them alarm and have to answer questions.

She drew with haste and passed as being amicable by babbling on with inane chatter, hoping they would ignore her busy hands.

Most people were fine to let it pass and keep from asking what she was on about with her pencil and paper.

Artists were everywhere in New York, so it was nothing to see one lazing about, irking people with their ulterior motive to sell a cheap, rushed work for a few spare coins.

That was never something she aspired to. If she was to draw, she wanted it to mean something.

Rarely did she draw simply for the sake of doing it. Something had to touch her, have meaning for her to put it to a canvas.

Before she knew what she was doing, she was on to the next sheaf, and a recognizable form took shape.

Even though it was in black and white, she knew those exotic, powerful green eyes anywhere. They had this inexplicable pull on her.

What was it about them?

Was it because behind that cockiness, they seemed to hold this weighty sadness of untold harrowing agony? Even she did not feel that way, and she had lost her husband and parents when very young and in need of them for support and survival.

Pah. She was no longer seventeen. That girl was gone.

Isabella bit the corner of her lip, released it, and then her tongue poked out as her furious pace took on an urgency the likes she'd never felt before.

It was as if her fingers thought they could conjure him up if they drew him quick enough.

"Well, what do you say?" Murray's voice traveled and broke through the thick cloud of artistic haze swirling like mad in her mind.

"Yes, it sounds grand," Isabella answered without having an inkling of what he referred to.

"Do you hear that, Cees? She has no qualms about watching men go about deboning each other like savage brutes." Murray slapped the table and laughed heartily. "My kind of woman to surround myself with."

Cecilia scowled for a moment then turned her eyes toward a crowd that was gathering not far from their table.

In fact, they had a nice view of it from where they were seated.

"Oh God no," Isabella groaned.

There, in the center, was that tawny colored hair she had just been drawing.

How did he seem to find her when she wanted to remain hidden and enjoy the likes of him from afar? Shadows seemed insufficient to keep him at length.

And she was powerless most of the time to resist him. Each time she told herself, "Make him go! He's vile!"

But her heart and mind would war, and her heart seemed to gain the momentum, taking over and leaving her mind blank like a newly prepared canvas, ready to be influenced and colored by a master's stroke.

She settled the drawing she'd just completed behind her stack of blank ones and then looked down at her tight, crimson dress. Why did she allow Rosalie to set this on her? She was disgusted with herself already.

No wonder that Roland leech had tried to advance upon her. She looked a high price call girl but not the kind that was respected. Oh no . . . She looked the kind that ran amok with all manner of filthy diseases barely hidden by costly apparel and rouge painted on the cheeks.

Damn Isabella's natural pale pallor. She looked sickly in this bold red color.

There was no way she could do it any kind of favor by wearing it.

Her chest tightened when she considered what Edward might think if he caught her in it.

Like a deranged, wild animal, she got up without a word with her papers and pencil and scooted to the outer banks of the crowd.

They were beginning to disperse as some lunatic man shouted that all must clear a space or he'd shoot their ears off.

Isabella found a spot behind two large burly men that were drinking and talking politics.

They took no note of her.

The second her eyes caught Edward, bare chested, his hair looking a glorious mess with perspiration at the roots, his eyes alight with mischief, she knew she would be lucky if she was able to keep from throwing herself at him.

His cravat he'd worn at the rally earlier was tossed over his shoulder for the moment as he talked to a buxom brunette, holding a shot glass out to him.

Isabella recognized her as one of the women he'd emerged with out of the passageway at the rally.

He took the drink and in one giant gulp had it down his throat. Isabella watched as his Adam's apple bobbed and his tongue roamed over his lips to get every last drop.

Greedy.

Selfish.

That bastard did things to her without trying.

The likes of him was pollution to the likes of her—rotting all that was good and decent in her marrow.

She knew this to be fact since her mind wandered into unbidden territory. Into places virtuous ladies such as herself had no business being.

She looked away for a moment, but like a rope pulling at her, that stubborn head of hers turned back, and her breathing hitched as she watched his abs contract while he wiped his face with his white cravat. When he was done, he smiled at another woman with enormous tits and dark hair with spirals so tight they looked like tiny springs in a disassembled pocket watch.

"Ah, another one," she huffed.

This woman gave him the bawdiest look Isabella had ever seen. Then the tramp ruffled her too small skirt and exposed her knees in the process.

Isabella bit into her bottom lip so hard, it stung. Had she drawn blood before he had? Would it dribble down her chin and expose her for the demon she truly was—lusting after an unattainable man that liked to tease her to no end.

What gain would it give him to have her except a moment of release in a hectic man's life?

And why did she entertain the thought with alarming regularity?

She took a seat where she could still manage to watch the fight and began drawing again.

The way his body moved with a lean fluid grace was astonishing since he was one of the tallest men she'd ever been around.

His hips had a tilting sway to them when he circled his prey.

She shifted in her seat and leaned forward to study those slim hips, that V shape she could make out as his trousers sagged a little without his shirt there, tucked in, taking up space.

He set his hands on his hips, exaggerating the sag even more.

Her breathing picked up when she noticed the trail of coarse hair leading south.

With each moment Edward taunted his competition and smirked, the more her task of keeping away became overwhelming.

"Gentlemen, you know the rules?" the officiator asked.

It was the only thing she heard before fists were flying and bones were crunching.

Muscles bunched all over Edward's tight, lean body, showcasing how incredibly strong he was.

She caught herself fighting off chills when he'd manage to miss a blow and land one directly after.

He had this wonderful, mesmerizing rhythm she found endearing, as odd as that was.

Right side, left, left, dip, pop up then _wham_!

He'd jab, he'd punch in such surprising areas the opponent was constantly caught off guard.

Her heart fluttered at how she thought about how similar they were in style.

She'd done almost the same exact thing to him—taking him down before he could catch on to her style.

It was with the element of speed and surprise she was able to end the fight before it started.

Only . . . Edward was toying with his meal—pawing it like a cat with a spirited but frightened mouse.

Oh, this green-eyed newspaperman was the devil in black trousers, caught in the middle of a ring of observers.

She leered at him, her eyes heavy and her breasts full and aching, hoping Edward would do something to upset her.

All she required was a reason to remember why she hated him.

Maybe he would say something foolish, or make a move that was ridiculous.

But no . . . He continued to dance around, make a divine spectacle of his sporting opponent.

The fight lasted for several moments, and Edward's knuckles were bloodied, his right ribs purpling a little, and his jaw pink were the other man managed to knick him a few times.

"Edward, end this! End this, end this!" a few women chanted. They smiled as they cheered this repeatedly.

Isabella's eyes narrowed.

Why did she get the feeling they were expecting something from this man when the fight was completed?

Sexual favors?

Would he pay them?

They almost behaved as if they would pay _him_ for the pleasure . . .

The _pleasure_.

Wasn't that what he promised her? Untold of pleasure?

Such a thing did not exist in her experience.

Murray Hall hollered that this was the best fight he'd ever seen, and Cecilia echoed the same sentiment.

Why had they pretended earlier that Cecilia was not in favor of a fist fight?

She was extraordinarily taken in by it now.

In fact, she probably yelled louder than anyone.

Well . . . Louder than anyone but the small grouping of whores chanting out his name.

Edward gave one of them a wink, then _paaaaaaffffp_!

He jammed his fist right under the man's nose, and _snappp_!

His nose broke, similarly to how she'd broken Edward's before.

Only this time, there was more than a spurting red faucet attached to his nose. This man went flying several feet backward, landed with a sharp thud, and was completely unconscious before he landed.

He was limp like a ragdoll when someone checked on him, and Edward was declared the victor.

A rush of feeling like a white hot poker lanced through her innards. She had to double over and cough to breathe.

He was fine. Edward had won, and she saw how truly beautiful and dangerous this man was. Instead of frightening her like any sane woman of her background would be, she felt even more pulled toward him.

Her eyes scrunched tight as she clutched at her breasts, coaxing her lungs to take in more air.

Damn her corset. She had gone without for weeks now. Women in her part of town rarely wore them. Only for special occasions, and though the tenement society rally was one such, it made her feel cheap.

Because deep down in the dark reaches of her soul, she knew she did it for him.

This deplorable man she could watch forever.

It mattered little what he did as she gaped at him. For even his way of taking a drink was filled with heady—

"My, my, rusticating in a little dark hidey hole? Maybe next time you'll join me in mine, instead of a well-populated one," that familiar thick velvet rasp said, jolting her.

She snapped to sitting upright, and her breasts almost toppled out on the upswing.

Her first inclination was to slap him for catching her at a vulnerable moment and once more, deteriorating her brain into chaff.

His eyes burned with a hunger so dark and edgy she clutched at the base of her throat in case he decided to devour her, such was the nature of his naughty look.

"Good sir, you have an uncanny ability to find women that have no need of you," she said, settling a palm over her papers on her lap now.

"And an even more uncanny ability to find the ones that want me most but hide in wait. Animals can smell fear from miles around, and I, my dear, can smell you for what you are."

Her eyes narrowed, and she swallowed. "Do not say another word. This unwanted conversation is already heading into murky waters."

"As long as you are wet, that's all I need knowing." He gripped her behind the neck and somehow managed to bring her up to standing.

Her drawings slipped from her grasp, and she flew at them like a crow, pecking at the last few kernels of food in existence.

He would see, and she'd be exposed for the impostor she was.

He'd know she was haunted by his visage and his deep, throaty laugh.

How often he seemed to have occasion to laugh at her expense, and she could not afford to let that continue.

She scampered around on her knees, foraging for every last drawing.

It was pathetic the way she appeared to be groveling.

"How many did you sketch tonight?" he asked, suddenly on his knees, face-to-face with her, covered in sweat and sporadic drops of blood.

He gripped her chin with one hand. "Are there any of me?"

She gulped and remained silent, her eyes flitting back to the ground, gathering her evidence so she could hide it at soon as possible.

"There are. I can tell. That guilty look in those fathomless brown eyes tells me all." He gripped her by the back of the head, and his fingers dug in at the roots, but oddly, it did not hurt. It shot tingles of spurting, hot pleasure down the nape of her neck. Her breath stuck in her throat and her words were entrapped in her heart. "How many of me?"

"This is hardly . . . Not now, please?" she whispered, her eyes softening in response to his probing questions.

He released her, grabbed the papers for her, and failed to look at any of them. It would have been better if he had because the naked look of longing he gave her was more rending than anything else she'd ever experienced.

"Once you are done being down here in the muck and filth with me, I suggest you allow me to clean you off." His eyes roamed over her dress. "Although, I hate to think of how the breaking blood-color of that dress on that alabaster skin would completely unman me once I had it pooling at your feet." He licked his bottom lip, gripped his teeth into it. "Do you have the desire to be at my whim?"

Her eyes went wide and her chest flamed with an unbearable heat.

"Never wear that color again in my presence unless you want to know the length, girth and frightening power of this man's weapon he was born with between his thighs. I barely keep from ravaging you as it is, but this . . ." He blinked once with a purposeful slowness. "It's cruel, Isabella. And not only to me, but these other inebriated men around me. At least you know I am not drunk because I was fighting tonight, but still . . . You take a risk by being here dressed that way and looking so sinful."

He gripped her behind the neck again.

"Please . . ." she whimpered. "I didn't mean . . ."

"It does not matter what you mean to do, it is already done. I am harder than any man has a right to be when surrounded by company." He glanced at her chest. "And your tits almost on full display are enough to make me destroy any man in here for even daring to look in your direction."

He stood and then helped her up.

"I must fight one more, and when I am done, you will accompany me," he said, his lips at her ear, his fingers tickling across the back of her neck.

Thousands of goose bumps gathered there as if summoned by his wicked skills.

"Accompany you where?" she whispered, her bodice visibly shaking as she fought to slow down her panting breaths.

"Anywhere I wish," he said with a breaking moan.

"Anywhere but your home," she delineated.

"Why must you be so difficult?" he growled, and before she could answer, he moved away and was back out in the circle, prowling, picking apart his prey and enjoying every moment of it.

He was even more aggressive about it this time, and he made her insides tremble as he'd throw her a smug grin.

Did he know the effect he had on her regardless of how she hid it behind vehement protests and acidic words?

Her shoulders straightened the moment the first punch was connected to tissue and bone.

Why wait for this man? She was offering herself up like a lamb to the butcher.

To what purpose?

He was nothing to her.

She stamped her desire by stomping her foot, taking her drawings and shawl then heading for the exit.

Her hands flung the doors open to the outside world, and a few flakes of snow assaulted her.

When had it turned so frigid? How long had she been in there?

Her white breath twirled before her eyes, and she shivered instantly.

But then all went blurry as she was whirled around, jade green eyes stared into her soul, and those lips she fantasized about took over her entire world.

She was pushed against a brick wall, and his weight was crushing into her.

Her fingers went to his back, and what had been pinked with heat and exertion moments ago, was now clammy and cool to the touch.

He'd freeze in this frigid air.

His chest spoke to the contrary. It was like a toasty fire, warming her bosom.

"You will come home with me."

"I will do no such thing," she said, breathless, gawking at his hardened body, fastened to hers.

"Good God, woman, I just left in the middle of a fight for you. I lost more money than you can imagine just now, all to keep you within my sights. You think I'll allow you to get away?" His lips were on her again, nibbling at her neck, and when he came back to face her, she noticed his lip was bleeding.

"You're hurt," she said, but it sounded like a question. She hated how feeble she sounded.

"Blood," he said like it was a litany on his busted lip.

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Because I crave it, Isabella. It's my source of sanity in an inhuman world I'm forced to live in." He showed her his right knuckles, and when she reached out to touch a cut, he placed his hand over her chin, scissoring his fingers apart with her lips puckered in the center.

He licked a direct line from that oozing laceration straight up to her lips.

When his tongue licked its way inside her mouth, she knew she should be repulsed by it—fight him off, but instead, her body gave an involuntary shudder, and she sagged against the wall, powerless. "I want it from you. I want to taste your essence, know you give me all. That's what you do to me."

"Are you trying to frighten me?"

"I'm trying to tell you that you _should_ run. That your instincts are correct because once I have you, there may never be freedom again. I am not the devil, for he has one goal in mind—your soul. I want more than that. I want your devotion so much that when I say I want to lick your puss, you don't question it. You drop and spread, and there is no fight left in you because you want it, too."

"I do," she breathed.

"Prove it now. Come back inside, wait and burn as I thrash a simpleminded fool that thinks he has already beaten me. Sit, and when I say we leave, we do precisely that." He grabbed her hand and settled it between his legs.

Before she realized she had his erection in her hands and it dawned on her she should yank her hand back, he had his hips jutting forward, trapping her hand there without the aid of his own hands.

"You will feel so much more than this, little mite. You'll feel my wetness seeping into your night rail, into your hair, and into every orifice you possess. And when the night gets even more bitter cold, you'll never notice, for you'll be covered in sweat and my come." He kissed the corner of her mouth, and then gave her a look that bordered on apology for what seemed inevitable now.

She would allow him to have her. That much was certain, He verified it by thrusting his clothed cock into her hand, and felt her fingers curl ever tighter around it in response, pleasuring him at his whim.

"My vixen. _My_ breaking blood on your alabaster, pure skin, not this dress. You will be bare before me tonight, and I will see exactly how pale and flawless that skin is from here," he raked his fingers from her knee, up her side, landed it on her breast and then squeezed, "to here."

"I . . . Not your home," she managed to croak once more. "Anywhere else."

He chuckled, thrust once more into her willing hand, and then created a wretched space between them.

Like a wanton woman, her hand remained cupped and waiting for his return.

His wolfish grin should've been infuriating, instead it was a relief.

If he was going to toy with her later like he had with his earlier victim in his boxing match, then she might stand a chance.

Fighting she understood.

Love she did not.

Not that this was anything more than heady, lust.

"I will wait," she said.

"I know you will, and have my clothes ready and waiting. I will not delay our departure for anything." He held his hand out, and like a dolt, she took it.

He pulled her back inside, kicked his shoes off at the door and then traipsed back over to where he had pummeled the previous man into something unrecognizable.

"Where were we, Jeffry?" Edward called out.

He set her in a spot right at the front, kissed her cheek, removed her shawl and set it aside. With a wicked gleam in his eyes, he brushed her hair over her shoulder he'd misplaced outside, and then he pointed at the man that had obviously been celebrating the forfeited match.

"It's not over. I needed to make sure I had the proper people in attendance for my celebrations for afterward," Edward told him.

"You left. I won," Jeffry said.

"How quick you are to accept something as paltry as a—"

"This man's afraid!" Isabella yelled out of nowhere.

She could scarcely believe her mouth produced those awful words, but they had.

"I'm afraid of no one!" Jeffry bellowed, spittle flying everywhere.

"That's why you will lose," Isabella said, stepping forward. "The moment a man stops being scared, that's the moment he's defeated."

"Who is this woman?" Jeffry laughed, looking at her like she was ridiculous.

"I'm the woman that knows a coward when she sees one. Why, I could defeat you right here and now. Haven't you heard how I already destroyed your nemesis here, Mr. Masen?"

The man jutted his chin out and scratched it. "Look here, little missy, you need to get out of the ring. This is a man's world, and there's no place for the likes of you and your shrew voice."

_Shhhhhraaaaap!_

She jabbed him in the Adam's apple, and he immediately clutched at his throat, choking and sputtering as he gasped for air.

He backed away, and that's when he wound up with nowhere else to go.

Edward was the wall he'd knocked into.

Her own paperman demon stood behind this man, towering over him, smiling at her in a way that gave her permission.

With one tight fist, she punched at the lowest point at the center of his solar plexis.

_Craaaaack!_

Both of his ribs gave way at the bottom.

Those floater ribs . . . Her favorite.

When Jeffry screeched, she used her other hand, and with the heel of her palm, landed dead center in his chest.

There was this god-awful whooshing sound like he lost every last ounce of breath inside him, and then he dropped to the floor and curled onto his side.

The officiator of the fight came to Jeffry's aid, and his brow crowded the bridge of his nose.

Was he confused on who to announce as the victor?

"Once again, Mr. Masen is the winner. Please see to it he's compensated according to your placed bets," Isabella hollered for the officiator.

Jeffry lay on the ground with blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. Edward's eyes were fastened on it and then they moved to her.

_Smaaack!_

A slap landed square on her left butt cheek, and something inside her glowed and tingled hotter than her skin that was just assaulted.

She jerked her head to see a very starved looking Mr. Masen, lunging for her.

A moment later she was being carried out the door, and he'd thrust into her hands his cravat, shirt, jacket, cloak, shoes and any other article of clothing he'd arrived with. Rose's shawl was forfeited. Somehow she'd managed to grab her drawings though.

"You are coming with me."

She sighed. "I drew blood—an invitation to you—that was my error, wasn't it?"

"Bloody right it was." He grinned and ran to his carriage. "Your mistake from the first."

She groaned and gripped around his neck so she wouldn't fall since he was jostling her so.

**A/N:**

**No blog post today, but many thanks to my beta, Anakinsmom. And thank you to all of you for reading, rec'ing and reviewing!**

**Chanse**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"You smell like smoke," Isabella observed. She inhaled at his neck, making him misplace his footstep. He almost stumbled at the mere hint of her being near his jugular.

"Minx, you mean to trip me," he said.

He tossed her inside the carriage along with all the items she was carrying and then he hopped in after her.

"I was only stating that—"

"Silence. I heard what you said. I smell like smoke, and you smell like blood. Blood I need to soak into my tongue," he said, leveraging his body over hers.

He slipped her right leg out and he curled it around his hip.

"How tight are you, Isabella?"

"Pardon?" Her voice shook.

"How tight? You've been without for eight years, and I don't want to hurt you. If I don't get you wet enough, I'll—"

"I've never been wetter," she confessed, wearing the most innocent expression, telling him it wasn't said as a lure. Quite the contrary, and that's what spurred him on.

He groaned through his teeth and tipped his head back to get a breath of air that hopefully wasn't saturated with her titillating scent.

When he was able to focus again, he stared at her mouth as he spoke with a tight, harrowed voice. "A virgin can be wet, but if she's not soft, relaxed, then I'd tear right through her and dash her enjoyment to hell."

A look of confusion and was it fear? crossed her features briefly.

"I won't hurt you, not like that," he said, placing urgent, but delicate kisses down her neck. He was done waiting. His fingers unlaced her dress deftly, and his lips found creamy skin as her breasts were freed from her dress and corset a moment later.

She arched up into his mouth with each savoring lick and suckling motion.

Her breasts were so supple, so perfect and pink.

"How tight? Hmm . . . Will you tell me, or make me fight to find out for myself? That's what you like, isn't it? Me on my knees, begging, and dirtying up my trousers so some other woman has to scrub them clean and wonder who I was bowing down to."

"This talk about some other woman? It does little to comfort me." She glared until his fingers roamed down her side and he pulled at her skirt.

"Why? Because I refuse to deceive you?"

She nodded and her lips twitched.

So innocent. What did this Roman do with her? How did he not come undone simply looking at her tits?

"I'll tell you what you need to know, not what I think you want to hear. That is why I succeed in life," he said.

"That's also why you're a conceited ass," she said, chuckling.

"You will pay for that insolence," he teased, tugging the rest of her skirt up and out of the way.

He took a moment to glance down at her puss. It was all he desired—all he knew anymore.

The slick entrance into a woman's mind he wanted to break into. He would find a way to fuck her out of her thoughts that kept her from his constant grip and constant craving for her.

"Ohhhhh, God," she said, jerking as his fingers climbed her inner thighs.

"Oh God is correct. He made this puss for me—for me to be inside. It belongs to me, and no other." He nipped at her lower lip, and when she nipped back and secured his lower lip in her teeth, he slipped a finger into her folds.

"Ssssffff," she inhaled, and tensed.

"Who's hands are these touching you?"

"Yours."

"Then you will relax into me. Melt into my hands. I promise you'll be soft and ready for me."

His body disagreed. It was screaming at him to fuck her now. His cock bobbed, heavy with blood and need.

Blood.

He picked up her hand she'd punched Jeffry in the throat with. While he circled her clitoris with one finger, he opened her hand with the other, inspected her knuckles.

There were a few minor abrasions, no cuts or largely damaged skin, but he'd enjoy this anyway.

He licked at the scratches like an animal might do. His eyes peered into hers, and when she wore a transfixed, sluggish expression, he slipped a finger inside her.

And fuuuuuck, this little miss was tighter than anything he'd ever felt.

"How nice. So cramped my finger is, my cock will never be lonely inside you, for you hug me already like you cannot let go even if you desire to do namely that." He rubbed his erection on her thigh.

She stared at him. Was she anticipating penetration?

Was she going to relax or would this be as difficult as everything else was with her?

"Sweet, you must soften your tissues. I don't want to hurt you, and I'm a rather large man." He let go of her hand, pushed his trousers down and unleashed his cock so she could see for herself.

She swallowed, and almost cowered into the cushions of the carriage.

"That will never fit," she said.

"And you have just stroked my ego more than if you'd watched me beat a thousand men to a pulp." He grinned. "Next, you'll tell me it's the largest you've ever seen."

"It is," she said, swallowing once more.

"Those big brown eyes can take me, and so can this puss. It's meant to surround, engulf and pleasure me. Now . . ." He licked her right nipple, and she convulsed on the spot with his finger immobile inside her. "Trust me. You can relax and enjoy the ride."

"How much longer 'til we arrive at our destination?" Her eyes widened, and she shrunk back a little more.

Obviously, the thought of being caught was distasteful to her.

He wished for the entire opposite.

There was this primal beast inside him that said it wanted everyone to know he was claiming her.

"With you in that red dress, destroying me? I told the driver to keep going until I informed him to stop. We have all night if that's what it takes to make that lush puss open and inviting." He pumped extra slow through her slick, tight hole.

She gripped the cushion below her, and closed her eyes. The way she braced herself lanced through him.

He stopped, and stroked her cheek with his other hand. "Did Roman hurt you?"

"I will not say," she answered, eyes still closed.

"You must. I need to know so I won't unwittingly harm you. Tell me, sweet," he coaxed, his finger swelling her puss lips nicely. He stroked longer now, enlarging her clitoris. If she was afraid of penetration, maybe this would help keep her mind on that engorged nub, creating waves of sensation she was probably unaccustomed to.

_Probably?_

There was no probably.

She was most certainly a chaste woman.

A promiscuous woman would be open to him already, her flesh pink, plump and uncaring about such trivial things as entrance by a man's stiff penis.

Everything about this was opposite from his usual feminine encounters.

And it was more than her innocence and inexperience.

It was intimate.

He was connected to her every breath, her tiny winces, and tight inhalations.

Someone manhandled her too roughly against her will in her past, and God help him, he would make that man suffer if it wasn't her already deceased husband, Roman.

"It will be so good to have me inside you, you'll have to concentrate on breathing so you don't faint. You'll wish it could never end. And when I think you're ready, I'll let you come," he said while inserting a second finger.

Goddammit, she tightened up even more than before, and it was like starting over.

"Will I hurt you?" he asked.

"Ye-I mean, no. I . . . I d-don't know," she said, her head shaking from side to side in a slow, drugged response.

"Why would I want you to feel pain in your most delicate place? I want you to love it as much as I do. No," he paused, ran his tongue over her nipple once more like he had a few moments ago, "neeeed you to be mad for it as much as I am."

Her leg that he slung over his hip, dug into him, bringing his cock closer.

"Deeper. That's what you'll want. You'll want me so far inside you, it'll be impossible to remember anything but me possessing you and taking over."

"But we're in a carriage," she pointed out.

"You think that matters? You refuse to let me take you in my bed, and I doubt yours could withstand my thrusting, so here we are. Now, no more trifling comments like that." He rocked his fingers in and out of her. "You only need to let me in. Let me be what you already need and desire. Stop fighting this."

"I d-dont, I . . ."

"You do. I don't want to hear the excuses anymore. I want you. You know I do, and a woman does not get this wet for someone she despises. Your body's told me so much already, like this," he said, shoving a third finger inside, "it wants more. It's your mind that's a barrier."

She winced.

"Does it really hurt? Or are you imagining it does? Are you imagining some other man treating you ill?"

She exhaled in a rush, her eyes opening and swimming in tears.

"I hear them . . ."

"_No_, you hear _me_. I'm here, before you. I'm whispering your name, tasting your blood on your knuckle and dying at this slow pace—all for you." He sucked at her neck.

"I do hear you now . . . You're all I know. Please, I want you . . . Please do what we both need," she said, her eyes pleading with him to end both their torment and fuck her already.

She tipped her puss up and when her leg on his hip relaxed and rolled open, he pushed his way up, removed his fingers swiftly and impaled her with his cock.

She stifled a scream as she bit her fist.

"Shhhhhitttt," he hissed.

This was . . .

Oh God. She'd never been . . .

He was breathing so hard, trying to forbear from pumping furiously inside her. His neck snapped back from the ferocious waves of pleasure overtaking him. That silky fist that her body had become was milking him as she tensed up a little more with each passing second, making it damn near unbearable and almost impossible to keep from fucking her raw.

His jaw clenched and the tendons in his neck stood out, all from the intensity of resisting.

It took momentous amounts of concentration to keep from harming her further.

She gripped his shoulders a moment later.

One hand pulled him toward her, the other pushed away.

Were her body and mind torn for him? Most likely, and just like he'd ripped through her maidenhead, unaware it still existed, she was probably confused and unaccustomed to feeling this way.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me?" he gritted, using every bit of his energy to keep motionless inside her.

"I . . . What was I to say?" she whimpered into the suddenly frigid air. "I only knew I wanted you this way, and you might not've . . ."

She'd been correct in her assumptions about him all along. He _wa_s a cad because even if he'd known, he wouldn't have stopped himself. Yes, he was a cad that had just torn his way into her body, without seeing the signs that had been there all along. Stupid asshole, unobservant paperman.

V. I. R. G. I. N.

If it had been any bolder in writing, he would not have noticed, too blinded by his want of her.

His fingers gripped her hips as he trembled.

"I'm sorry . . . I did not realize . . . Can I . . ." he swallowed hard ". . . continue? Please, God, say yes," he moaned into her neck, almost collapsing already as he held his weight steady above her.

"Yes, I need . . . friction—some movement," she said, her voice shaky with emotion.

Slow. He had to.

_Oh, dear God, please help me to keep from damaging this woman and consuming her flesh like a ravenous beast._

Her infernal, impossibly tight grip on his cock would cause him to expire soon if she did not let up.

"Breathe, Isabella. Relax. Please . . ." The way she sheathed him—fuck it was the worst torture imaginable, for now he'd know what he was craving and it was better than anything he could've ever imagined. He released his hold of her right hip and stroked the back of her thigh, hoping to calm her body and keep it from clamping down harder.

"But my husband . . . He didn't do this . . . I'm not accustomed to . . ."

He snapped his jaws at the thought of how ludicrous it was that Roman never consummated with his wife, but then the idea Edward was the first, her _only_, made his chest enlarge, and his cock, too.

Shit. This was worse. Would there be enough room for him to thrust if he was even larger now, and she ever smaller?

The notion made him twitch inside her.

She gasped.

"Christ—such creamy, slippery white flesh, broken, bleeding for me. You know what that does to me, don't you? You know it urges me on," he said, and then he pulled out and fell to his knees, taking her puss's engorged lips into his mouth.

She made the most erotic, pained sound he'd ever heard.

Moans.

He'd heard those plenty from his whores, but not like this.

They were well-timed, practiced and rote by memory.

This was the sound of a little miss on the precipice of changing into a woman with a savage, beating heart that matched his own for a bloodletting—a moment of revelation.

There was nothing false about it.

His sack tightened and his balls lifted. She would make him come soon, even while outside her body if she continued to sound like that.

"Come in my mouth. Mix this blood with your come," he said into her cunt.

The opening flared wide open for him. There was nothing barring his entry now.

His tongue took what was drenched and made it wetter.

He reveled in the way she shuddered at his lips, tongue, and fingers.

There was a moment he was concerned maybe he was being rougher than he'd intended, but then she reached down, tangled her fingers in his hair and lifted her hips, angling her clitoris toward his mouth.

He grinned, sucked her now exposed pink, glistening little organ into his mouth, and within seconds, she was writhing, coming in his mouth.

It took him little time to jam his cock back inside her right as she was in the middle of her orgasm.

That hole was crammed so tight with him, it was difficult to move in her, and she made it even tighter as her inner walls contracted and released around him while she spun out of control, emitting the most delicious moans imaginable.

"Jesus, you feel . . . Ah, you . . . I, my God, I have to . . ." He gulped some air to try and prevent it . . . Not yet. Too soon. He needed more. He needed to keep going as long as she would let him.

What if she never allowed this to happen again?

"Edwaaaard," she cried out, writhing beneath him.

He pulled out barely in time, and painted her pale belly with his semen.

His growl at the sight of it seemed to cause another lush moan to escape her.

"Isabella . . ." he panted, "if you want to keep me from being inside you again in the next five minutes, you'll keep from making sounds like that. My God, woman, have you no sense of self-preservation when you're near me?"

Her mouth formed into an O, and he could no longer abide it. He needed her closer.

He yanked her into his arms, traded places so he was under her, and he wrapped his arms around her and bit her shoulder.

Instead of yelping and protesting like he expected her to, she groaned and arched into him, her head tipping back.

He was right about her.

She was explosive with sensual, carnality—like him. A base creature, beholden to blood and an insatiable need to fuck hard.

There was never a moment she seemed repulsed by the way he licked at his blood or hers.

Siren. That's what she was.

And all she had needed was exposure to be released . . . Exposure to _him_.

"I need you in a bed before the night is out. You have me at your disposal, so say where," he told her, keeping his arms fastened around her.

"I . . . Wh-what do you m—"

"If you think I'm done with you tonight, you're imagining something that cannot ever be. Tell me—where to. I'm getting a crick in my neck, you'll get cold if I keep you naked out in this chilly night air, and I want to take my time with you. I think I can ensure all my tenements hear you calling out my name, and all the cocks around will smell your blood on my shaft." He grinned and inhaled the scent of her.

Glorious little miss and her tight, enveloping puss.

He could barely contain his furious need to have her again. Another deep whiff and his head was tingling like it did from too much scotch.

"Where?"

"M-my home, Edward. I don't want to be in any other bed."

"Your home. I will gladly break your bed and buy you a new one." He grinned as he nuzzled at her ear.

"And what of my dignity when my neighbors see me take you in like a thief in the night? Who consorts with men like that when they are not getting paid?" He opened to his mouth to protest, but she cut him off. "Can you replace my damaged pride? When it bleeds, are you going to lick that up, too?"

She struggled to break free, but he refused to let go.

"Shhh . . . Not another word like that. I don't want you humiliated. Far from it." He tried to angle his head so he could look in her eyes, but she was evading him. "Look at me, sweet. I want to tell you something important, and I need to know you're listening."

When she jerked her head toward him, her cheeks were stained pink with tears.

"My Lord, did I hurt you terribly when I took you?"

"No."

"Do not lie to me," he warned.

She shook her head. "It's not that." She looked in earnest.

"Then what? I want to know so I can say my piece."

"You think to ruin me," she said, slapping her hands on his chest. "I need to be independent, to fend for myself, and you think after tonight I'll be able to do that without wanting you? Feeling drawn even more so now?"

He grinned ever wider. "Is there something amiss in this plan?"

"Yes, there is something amiss, you putrid bastard. I don't need anyone. Ever!" She broke free, shoved herself to the farthest edge of the carriage and tried to put her clothes back in place unsuccessfully.

Against his better judgment, he helped her get redressed. "It is not a crime to need help or to need people. I cannot get far if I shun all who offer their services."

She turned fiery eyes on him and shouted, "Like your streetwalkers? That's what I just became to you, i'n it?" Her slang broke through like it had at various times before when she was provoked into a rage.

He should have begged, tried to calm her down so she would go back to being so open and vulnerable, but damn if he would stop her. This fire inside her, the one that surfaced like a licking, all-encompassing explosive inferno was what made him want her even more. It made him insatiable.

"Go on," he encouraged her. There was nothing more entertaining than watching her rant and turn almost as red as her lovely dress.

He settled into his spot on the other side of the carriage so he could see all of her when she exploded and told him exactly how deviant of a monster he was.

But out of nowhere, she jumped out of the carriage while it was still moving, and she was running down the street.

He thumped on the carriage wall to signal to the driver to stop. His fingers fumbled as he shrugged back into all his clothes and tucked his cock away in his trousers. The moment the carriage was still, he was out of it, flung some cash at the driver and raced after her.

For such a short person, she traveled well.

Fortunately for him, his legs were much longer, his strides more effective, and he overcame her, shoving her up against a wall.

"When I said go on, I meant to speak more of your fears, not leave me!" He ground his hips into hers and pinioned her wrists up by her head, caging her in.

"I knew what you meant," she said, her brown eyes darkening. "I simply had no more care to stay. You pretend to listen, when all the while, you're thinking what a low, disgusting filth-ridden slut I am. Why would I surround myself with that kind of ilk? Your money does not make you better than me."

His face pinched, and he exhaled. "You're right. But I know the answer. Want to hear it?"

"Shame on me for thinking there was a moment you might keep silent." She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled with a dark, scratchy laugh. "So much fight, and that's what I need. I need you because of your strength. I need you because you're unbreakable. I need you to be my low, filthy, disgusting slut because it's what I want from you more than anything. To be unleashed, to show me how good it can be when we're both so bad, we make the gutters look clean. To make me dirtier, grimier than I ever thought possible because I want to wallow in the muck with you as I fuck you harder than I ever have before. Want to know why? Because you can take it. Because you want it more than you'll ever know." He blinked and then shifted tighter into her.

Her eyes glazed for a second then turned to ice.

"Tell me I'm wrong. Slap my face and contradict what your body's saying. Why pretend I sicken you, when you clearly want me as much as I do you? You thrived on the way I was talking to you, the way I was grinding my body into yours and abusing it for sheer pleasure. If your mind does not recall all that just transpired, your body does. Even now, you flush with the heat of desire in this arctic night air."

All she did was stare at him, breathe so hard he could feel her nipples poking out through her dress, and he was crippled by the ribs of her corset crushing into him—taunting him.

How he longed to rip the threads off that corset with his teeth.

"How often do you tell yourself you forgo knickers and your corset because you're poor?"

"Every day, because it is true," she answered.

"And when you leave your house, and you show up at my paper, realizing you've passed several other women on the way that were all wearing those things because they want to be modest and proper above all else, you know in your heart you went without it all for _me_. To _tempt_ me to madness for you." He placed one of her hands on his heart. "Feel that? You thrum in my blood now. I've licked it up, taken a portion of you. You wanted to get inside me before I got inside you, and you succeeded. Why hurt me? To what purpose?"

When she had no reply, he grabbed her and hauled her down the street.

"To your bed, then. I am cold, and you are not spent yet. My fingers will grip into you more, and you will know the truth of all the things I say . . ." He sped his march. "I will show you how much you want this."

His chest tightened.

He glanced around at his surroundings. Surely, they needed to make haste.

They were certain to pass all sorts of scoundrels on the way, but if they trifled with him, he'd break their neck so fast they'd be gone before he could take another breath.

The longer they walked, the more somber and silent she became. An eerie calm settled over them, and he was uncertain what to make of it.

Was she resigned?

Had he broken her spirit unwittingly? Please, God, no.

He tucked his head down to fight the blistering wind howling at them.

Why was she so silent? She always had something to say.

_You really did break her . . . In all the ways possible, you asshole._

Nonsense. The woman was more tightly strung than a green horse, never saddled before. She'd fail to ever be tamed, and he reveled in that knowledge, for he loved that about her.

The second they were inside her door to her home, the atmosphere charged.

She turned to him, gave him a scorching look, and she tore her dress at the right shoulder.

He gawked as the sleeve fell from her.

She did the same on the left, bursting the seams.

His legs buckled for a moment when she dropped the dress to the ground after shredding that off, too.

There she stood in her corset and shoes—nothing else.

"Is this what you came here for?" she asked.

"I came for _you_. Don't you doubt it," he said, extinguishing the air between them because he was devouring her mouth with his in a fit of lust.

If he worried about crushing her fire inside her, it ended right then when she ripped his trousers off with the same ferocity she had her own expensive, figure-forming dress.

He'd buy her another to replace it since he hadn't gotten his fill of seeing her in it, the vixen.

The woman was a vision in red, blue, and most of all, between his legs.

He picked her up, hauled her over to her bedroom and then spread her out on the bed. She kicked off her shoes.

Without her help, he removed the rest of his clothes. No need to ruin every garment they came into contact with tonight. He would need to leave her place at some point, and exiting in tattered, ruined clothes would create that embarrassing scandal she was trying so hard to prevent.

"Want you at my disposal all the time," he said, gripping her ankles and spreading them as he crawled on the bed toward her.

"A dream," she said.

"A dream I have every night of _you_. How have you invaded my head so fully? I cannot even look at another woman," he told her, lining himself up so he could invade her body the way she had his brain.

"Yet you winked at some woman tonight while you were fighting. I noticed you chatted with one as well beforehand."

He wrinkled his brow and narrowed his eyes. A chill ran across his shoulders. "To whom do you refer?"

"The woman that gave you a drink; the one I saw at the tenement society rally." She huffed. "The _one_ with the tits larger than the skyline. That's to whom I refer," she said through her teeth, but her body still open to him.

Such an intriguing woman, his Isabella. How would he ever stop wanting her?

"Vivian?" He chuckled. "She can't tolerate me for more than an hour at a time."

"Enough time to have your wicked way with her and get your fill. Sounds like your dream come true right there." She smirked.

He rimmed her moist slit. "Is that the way of it, then? You'll be jealous every time I speak to a woman?"

"No. I don't care who you converse with, as long as you stay away from me. I'm not in the habit of sharing various prostitutes' diseases." She tried to close her legs.

He growled so low in his belly, he knew she could feel it reverberating into hers since he was on top of her, pressing her down into her feather mattress.

"I did not touch her tonight."

"But you _have_ touched her, have you not? At some point, done more than touch her? Known every inch of her body, no doubt her curvy bottom, too? Licked her blood and savored it like a fine wine. That's the kind of man you are. You pound your fist into a man's face, then turn around and pound your manhood into the first woman that will welcome it." She went lax beneath him as if she might as well give in so it would be over faster.

He had no intention of rushing a damned thing.

"Isabella, I didn't know you then. I had needs like any man does, and when I figured out who and what my wi—"

Her head stiffened in place and she swallowed hard. "_Wife_? You were married once?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does to me."

"Why?" He sighed.

"Roman seems to plague you, and if you think I'll take you into my bed before you detail out your past with other women, then you really need a strong drink to prepare yourself. I must know." Her eyes hardened.

He sighed again, more exaggerated this time.

"Do you know what I drew tonight, and where those papers went?" she asked.

"No." He tried to swallow like she had; only his throat was so restrictive, nothing was happening. It made him feel like he was being strangled. He focused on her mouth to get him through.

She set her palms on his chest and ran her fingers through his coarse hairs.

"I slipped them under the seat of your carriage on purpose."

"I don't understand." His brow wrinkled.

"So the next time you ravage some other whore in there, she might unwittingly grip the edge of the cushion for purchase and discover what I hid. There are pictures I drew of you in the nude," she said.

"But until now, you hadn't seen me fully naked." He traced a line under her lower lip. So soft there. So soft everywhere. She was very distracting when he looked at her. This woman could swipe his mind clean in an instant.

"Does it matter? I hadn't seen any man in the flesh naked before, but I studied art. I knew what a man's body looked like in theory." She blushed. "Now that I know what you look like—how beautiful—I hope to God any woman you ever take after me for a pleasure ride finds those papers and spins herself into a jealous rage because that's what you do to me." Her face lost its color. "I can't abide feeling that way. It's not who Isabella Swan is."

"She doesn't need anyone," he echoed her from earlier.

"Especially not some pompous asshole paperman with a body more exquisite than Michelangelo's David or any Greek or Roman nude statue I ever studied." Her mouth parted wider and her soft breath washed over him. "What do I do when I wake up tomorrow, realize I am stuck in the mire as you ride off into the green hills where you belong? How does my heart survive it?"

"You realize when you've woken up, that I offered to take you along . . . It's your choice if you remain behind or you watch me go."

"That's not a decision I can make."

"Yes, you can . . . And you'll make it without thinking because you do that entirely too much." He smiled.

"Rake."

"Slut. Open your legs a little wider, and tomorrow you'll wake sore before anything else happens because I will have ridden you harder than any horse I'll ever ride off on."

She smiled back and spread herself at his behest.

Green hills would be great to fuck her on. Great to fuck on, indeed.

**A/N:**

**No blog post on this one either, but I do have many thanks for Anakinsmom, my beta. Mwah! Appreciate all her help.**

**Chanse**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Isabella awoke, choking on the air, smelling smoke.

"Not again!" she cried out with a yelp as her hand smacked into a body at her side. Her legs were immobile.

She turned in her bed to find Edward asleep with his legs crossed over hers.

Her chest spasmed, and her heart raced.

Every time her damned neighbor upstairs smoked those foul things, it threw her into a state of panic. It reminded her of how Rose's hands smelled when the flesh had been almost completely burned off them. The chunks of skin hanging there haunted her nightmares.

Bile threatened to crawl its way up the back of her throat, but she swallowed it down and grimaced.

She snuggled into Edward's side, enjoying the heat for a moment and that exotic crisp scent of feral man he gave off. Could he smell less enticing, please?

He needed to leave.

"I shouldn't be with you," she said to herself under her breath.

"Ffffffssssuuuuhh," he inhaled like he'd been holding his breath, his chest expanding greatly.

She scooted away.

"You _should_ be with me." He exhaled like he was exhausted and his voice was coarse with sleep. "What's upsetting you already? I haven't even had a moment to get dressed and irk you by slobbering all over your tits, not to mention, it's not even bright out yet." He rubbed his chest. "How could you possibly be in a state already?"

"You need to go," she said, pushing his arm away from her that lay on the bed a few inches from her belly. "_Now_."

"Why should I? We still have time." He flopped over on his side, draped an arm over her middle and then rubbed his erection into her thigh. He inhaled at her shoulder. "You smell like me and a good hard fucking. I love it."

"I don't care what you love. Get out."

"No." He propped himself up on his elbow and leered at her exposed breasts.

She immediately cupped them with her palms. "Stop looking at me like that."

"What should I look at? What's better than your tits?"

"Gahhhh, leave."

"What? No food first? I get hungry after I fuck, and I fucked you harder than anyone else." He grinned.

"Will you quit saying that?"

"Fucking? It's a great word. I use it all the time. Get used to hearing it, little miss." He chuckled deep in his chest and kept staring.

"Mr. Masen, if you want to depart with your nose intact, I suggest you do as I bid. Leave. I won't take no for an answer again."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his clothes, or what she could find of them and flung them at him.

Rather than wait for him to do it, she started dressing herself.

"I think I prefer being called asshole over Mr. Masen by you," he mused.

"Pity. Now I shall call you _Mr. Masen_ every time I bump into you."

He stood, walked up behind her and encircled her waist with his arms, hugging her tight into his hardened shaft. "We shall do more than _bump_ into each other, Miss Swan. You work for me. If I see fit to have you at my disposal, I will." He swayed her back and forth.

She ripped his hands off her. "You certainly will not! I've told you repeatedly, I am not a call girl, and more assuredly not yours!"

He jutted his lower lip out and pouted. "Now, now, sweet. You won't be able to resist any more than I will."

"Then I'll find a new arrangement with my employment. I've already had issues with a certain employer withholding wages for his own asinine reasons."

"Oh dear," he grinned, "how troubling to deal with ilk of that caliber. Let me beat this louse into submission, and you will never suffer again."

He slowly pulled his trousers back on, but kept watching her as he did so.

"That would backfire, sir. He has an unrestrained blood lust, and it would only fuel him on." She had her dress on and was brushing her hair when she abruptly turned to him and scowled. "I'm in earnest—you must leave soon, or I'll never be able to show myself on this street again. Already a few people saw you enter my tenement with me last night."

He groaned and his shoulders sagged. "Why must you persist in this manner? It would only help you to be seen with me."

"Splendid—then I shall be worse than any whore peddling her body. I'll be known as the woman who not only spread her legs easily, screamed your name so all could hear, but I'll also be renowned as the woman that dug for gold out of your very own money bag while at work." She shook her head. "I would die before I allowed myself to be turned into the likes of that!"

"No one will think anything of you at all. This town is full of money grubbers; sleazy people trying to take advantage."

"Precisely, and I want to bear no resemblance to any of them. I wish I didn't even need you to pay my wages. It sickens me to take any money from you." She set the brush down and approached him.

He almost startled when she gripped his biceps. "Listen to me, and honestly hear this . . ."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, but it was there.

"This will not be a reoccurring thing with us. I don't like you. I won't ever like you or want you. There is no hope to gain anything from me, and the same is true in return. You have nothing to offer me I could ever want. This is over. Thank you for the fuck, as you like to call it, now go on your way. I'll see you at work later, and all will be as it was before." She let go of his arms and waved.

He barked a sardonic laugh and gripped her arms like she had his. "Fight; keep denying who and what you are, and see where it gets you."

She slapped his hands off her.

"Are you threatening me?"

"No. I promised I would never hurt you, and that's a promise I will forever keep. I'm only telling you what I have learned over the years . . . When you fight what you are, those needs don't go away. They increase until you explode and then it takes over you in such complete chaos, you may never recover. Instead, you should channel it, let it out on a consistent basis, and you'll not only be happy, you'll be fulfilled. That's what I want to do for you. Why do you think I box as often as possible? It keeps me under control—keeps my beast fed." He tucked some loose hairs behind her ear and then his fingers lingered there until he fisted at the roots. "Do not deny me, Isabella. It will not be good for you."

"Or _you_?"

"Yes, but right now I'm thinking of your welfare, not my own. I care about you," he said.

"Why you persist and pretend to have any emotions for me, I cannot fathom." She pushed on his chest. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but she moved away and continued, "Even if you do have feelings you're professing to have, it does not matter. Assholes do not appeal to me, and you're at the top of the heap."

"Better air at the top—you should try it." He winked at her.

"Uuuuunnnhhh!" She groaned and slapped his arm. "I am leaving now. You stay if you want, stubborn man, but I will not be returning to this hovel. Not after you've defiled it by showing your face in the light of day."

"Hovel? I thought you loved your home," he baited her.

"Shut your mouth. This prattle is beyond taxing." She grabbed her shoes, put them on, and as she leaned over, she was fully aware he was gawking at her cleavage.

"Isabella . . ."

"No, Mr. Masen. I'm done here. Thank you. It was a nice fuck; I slept well and am refreshed. My mind is alert, and I am off to make an honest day's wage. Please lock my door as you leave."

With a flip of the wrist, saluting him, she left him standing in her bedroom, still bare chested and gaping after her.

The scoundrel needed to find his way back to his side of town and forget he was ever under her skirt.

.

.

.

"Oh, Miss Swan, there you are!" someone called out.

Edward watched her through his window while he sat at his desk and feigned being occupied with work.

His door was propped wide open. He kept considering ways to draw her in, but when he'd entered the office after she'd already been at work for over an hour, she ignored him completely.

"Hi, Josh, how are you?" She beamed at Templeton.

"She did not acknowledge me, and she uses a first name on him with a familiar tone?" Edward gritted under his breath. His fists bunched on his desk and his shoulders scrunched up. "I've been inside her, and I do not get a greeting." He growled, low and deep.

His left leg bounced under the desk.

She was still talking to Templeton, his newsboy distributor. Why him? What was special about him that she could afford to like him and converse in a cordial manner?

A moment later, she left the office with Templeton, and as Edward sat and burned for her, he resolved not to chase after her like he had at the club last night.

It would never end well.

He was already too involved with her, and she was quite right—they needed to keep things professional and superficial.

Wise woman.

Very wise.

And beautiful, and sexy, and making him crazy!

He bunched the paper in his fist that he'd been trying unsuccessfully to peruse the entire time he'd been in his office. His arm flung out and he tossed the paper in the corner.

He pushed to his feet, shouted that they all needed to leave since he could smell gas.

The office cleared within moments, and when they were all gone, he left to go after her.

Once outside, he spotted Isabella several yards off with Templeton and some older man who was a stranger, looking through a camera lens.

She was hunched over, and her backside was rounded nicely.

His cock stirred, and his blood thirsted for more of her.

He walked up to her, gripped her by the shoulder and smiled when she jumped and shrieked.

Her hand lashed out and she smacked his face.

Templeton hid his snicker behind his hat.

"Isabella, there is a matter in the office that requires your assistance," Edward told her, ignoring the fact she'd struck him.

"What's happened? Some important news discovered that needs an artist's hand?" Her right eyebrow rose.

"Yes," Edward answered with a curt tone.

He took her by the back of the elbow and steered her away from those men.

"Why were you out here with them?" he asked when they were far enough away that the men couldn't hear them.

"I have been learning the art of photography. My skills need to evolve with the changing business. It's imperative I learn my way around a camera." She smiled and her tone brightened.

"It's imperative you stop ignoring me when I am nearby."

"Lurking you mean?"

"Watching over what's mine . . ." He quickened his pace.

"I will not be your plaything, sir. I do not get paid for that."

"Yes, you've made that abundantly clear repeatedly." He squeezed his fingers around the back of her arm.

"Then why am I being rushed off the street when I was taking the time to acquire new marketable skills?" she huffed.

"You do what your employer requires, and if he says now is not the time to learn a new _skill_," he said through a clenched jaw, "then you stop what you are doing."

"You resemble a man unhinged. Dear sir, perhaps you should leave for the day and inform your employees you're unwell."

Was she teasing him?

He stopped, looked at her and said, "I locked your door when I left this morning, but I did not lock you out of my mind. Why do you torture me like this?"

"Like what? I am here to gain a day's wage, not be your prostitute."

He leaned in and glared. "I swear I will make you love me. You'll need me more than you need your damned honest wage."

"I do admire how you dream big." She blinked and her expression went from blank to haughty.

"Admire my cock instead, dreaming of fucking you once more."

"Sorry, but that appendage needs to be reined in. It's your biggest hindrance." She walked on.

"Get in my office, Isabella, and I will join you shortly." He walked back over to Templeton and the stranger. He cleared his throat once he was next to them. "That woman is my employee, and as such, it is my job to protect her. She's not safe out here on the street."

"I apologize, Mr. Masen," Templeton said, "but I thought she'd cleared it with her superiors first. And I was done with my distribution duties for the day."

"Not on the street. Not her—not _ever_," Edward barked in a clipped tone.

"Yes, sir. It won't happen again." Templeton dipped his head and turned back to the other man and told him, "Let's clear this away."

The man's eyes narrowed at Edward for a moment and then he went about disassembling the camera.

Edward circled back around and entered the building.

Isabella sat in his chair, her feet on top of his hat.

He slammed the door to the office.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"They are gone."

"Truly? I thought maybe I was in need of spectacles." She squinted and pretended to look out his window at the empty desks. She turned her frosty gaze back on him. "You've stopped production for this?"

"For _you_. I'd stop hell from burning for you. I'd stop God from making it rain if it meant I could have you again." He prowled in front of her. "What do you want, Isabella? State your desires, and I'll see to it you have them."

"So you can have me again?" Her voice softened.

"Yes. Twice is not enough. I am addicted to you, to your voice," he dropped to his knees in front of her, ran his hands up her ankles and curled his fingers around her calves as he slowly parted her legs, "to your soft skin. Your presence is what I require, and I will find the means to give you what you need. Tell me—what can I do to stop this madness in my head? To keep my blood from boiling over?"

She sighed and drummed her fingers on his desktop.

He rested his head on her thigh. "Please . . . You're not a malicious sort. Is there some way to make your heart ache for me? I'm a villain—I know this, but I can—"

"You can't stop a leopard from hunting because it wants to be a soft little rabbit. It will always be a hunter, and you are a predator—I am your prey. It is in my best interests to run longer than you can until you are winded and lose interest. We have instincts. My needs are not something you can fulfill." She pushed her legs together, and he gripped her calves harder.

"Don't say that."

"Honesty is all I have. Take that away, and I am nothing."

His head popped up off her lap. "You. Are. _Everything_."

"You don't know me." She slipped her fingers through his hair.

He leaned into it and made this soft, humming sound. "How does your touch center me?"

"It makes you feel a sense of victory, but that's all."

"It's more than that. Let me show you," he said, opening his trousers and pulling his engorged cock out.

"No more. I said we are not to go that route again," she reminded and turned away from him.

"No, it's not what you surmise." He gripped her chin and turned her gaze back on him. "Watch what I do."

Her breathing went ragged when he pumped himself with his right hand.

"I do not understand the value of this," she said.

"You will. Observe me."

"I can't. This is lewd and sinful." Her eyes went heavy and she rounded toward him with each exaggerated breath.

"It is, but it can't be helped." He thrust into his hand and went breathless at the look on her face.

"This isn't wise," she said, shaking her head in tiny increments, but her eyes stayed attached to his heavy, cock, streaming thick pre-ejaculate out of it.

"You are the authority on wisdom; I'm asking you to _feel_, nothing else. Feel what it does to you when you see my utter _need_ for you." He pulled her skirt up to her knees and rubbed his flaring tip on the inside of both her calves. "This is how long and swollen you make me. I don't drip like this for anyone but you. Never have I been this hot for a woman."

She blinked and her breathing deepened. Her eyes roamed over the wet streaks he left on her skin. A new bead gathered at the tip of his cock as he coaxed more out of his shaft.

"You accused me of taking blood of other women. That's not true." He leaned in, his mouth an inch from hers. "I lick my own blood, suck on it after a fight, though I've craved for a long time to taste someone else's, but _yours_ . . ." He took a deep, agonized breath. She had to listen.

"Mine is no different than any others."

"You are wrong. I could smell it—that tiny little bit, and I had to have it on my tongue. It was sweet, it was salty, had some bitterness, and it almost burned its way down my throat. I've never experienced anything like it before, and it sweetened everything. I can't describe it adequately, but you were made for me. For my body, my mind, my senses. This isn't infatuation. It won't go away." He tugged harder at his length.

"How do you know? It's been a day. You tell me this the morn after and expect me to believe you?" Her voice broke.

"That's what I am saying. Don't believe me. Witness what you do to me. Watch me come."

"I will not," she said. It sounded like she was raising her voice on purpose as if she knew she should be mortified, but she really wasn't.

"I will pay your week's worth of wages directly after if you watch me," he said, eyes pleading.

"Once more, I am paid like a trollop." She set her hands on his shoulders. "If you want to know what to do so I don't want to slap you, then stop trying to toss me money like I'm your cleaning lady or carriage driver."

"But you need money."

"It's not what motivates me in the rest of my life." She threw her hands up and her face turned a little redder.

"Yes . . . God, keep going," he said, his testicles tingling. She was growing agitated, and he was growing more amorous. He would come any second if she kept doing that.

"You're . . . Are you . . . ?" Her eyes roved down to his cock. She watched his hand rubbing vigorously.

"I infuriate you," he began.

"Yes, you do."

"Because you want me, but you wish that were not true."

"Why did I ever allow you to touch me?" she asked.

"Touch me now, sweet. I won't allow you to say no," he said, yanking her by the wrist so she was hunched over.

He thought of that ass rounded as she was curled around the camera.

His thighs tightened. "Touch it now, Isabella. I won't ask again. You want to, and I'm dying for it. You want to ruin me like I have done to you." He coaxed her to join him on the floor.

When she was on her knees, he took her hand and wrapped it around the base of his cock.

"Stroke with me. Bring me pleasure, and ensure your own." He bent toward her, his forehead an inch from hers. "Let the desire to be fucked overcome you. Breathe hard, let your puss drip with desire, and then tell me what you need."

"I don't need anything from you," she reiterated.

"You _do_. I know you do." He settled his forehead on hers and rubbed it back and forth as he maneuvered her hand up and down his shaft.

"Press harder at the root," he said.

She nodded and her tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth exactly like she did when she was caught up in her drawings.

The look of concentration and unadulterated lust on her face made him weep at the tip even more. Some of it moistened her hand, and he growled when her eyes lit up at the sight of it.

"I may want to taste your blood, but you want to taste my come," he said.

"I . . ."

"Tell me I'm wrong," he said, pulling her hand up to the slippery tip, and running her palm all around the head. "Tell me you don't love that I'm making your hand and your puss wet."

"Good Lord, Edward I . . . I can't say these things." She flushed at the neck and chest.

"Then repeat after me."

She nodded, her eyes brightening once more.

"I want to suck you."

She shook her head and the blush traveled up to her cheeks and ears.

"You don't have to think about how you're saying it to me. Envision me saying it to you. It's what a reporter does. They repeat in writing shocking things other people say. And I am saying this to you. 'I want to suck you.' Repeat it without thinking," he said in a low, unhurried timber.

"I want to suck you."

"Hard."

"_So_ hard."

He smiled. "I want you dripping on my tongue."

"I want you dripping on my . . . tongue," she paused and swallowed then added, "and down my chin."

"Very good, little miss."

"I'm not your little miss."

"You're my lover, my puss that takes control and holds me hostage, but we're not done." He made her stroke him faster. "Say, 'I'll swallow your come."

"I'll swallow your come." Her eyes went dark and heavy.

"I'll lick you clean after."

"I will lick you clean after, and _then_ I'll want more."

He blinked.

"What then, Mr. Masen? What about when I want more and can't have it?"

"You can have everything." He cupped her tiny hand around his dick and caressed the back of her hands, allowing her to stroke the way she wanted. "I promise you. I'm yours."

"The most eligible, unattainable asshole in the city is saying he'll marry a woman he barely knows all because he tasted her blood? That's madness. Even I can see this."

He gripped her wrists and was ready to argue further, but she took her hand and dropped it to the base and then in a flash she was enveloping the tip with her mouth and sucking.

"Oh Jesus! I knew you wanted me. We can't fight this—not anymore." He thrust into her mouth, and when she made that dying moan sound that about killed him last night, he went harder. No more gentleness, no more being a coward. He fucked her mouth with all he had.

The rougher he was, the more forceful her suckling became.

His eyes wanted to roll up in his head, but he forced them to stay open. He had to watch her taking him in her mouth.

He was close to coming, but he wanted to prove his prowess, that he could go longer, harder and she would never lack pleasure with him.

But then her little hand roamed down to his sack and when she tugged on it then fondled him, he climaxed in a rush.

"Your mouth—your tiny puss—they're mine," he said, emptying into her mouth and shoving himself in as far as he could go. Once he was done, she licked him root to tip like he'd made her repeat.

She smiled up at him when she was done.

"Don't go."

"Thanks for the fuck—that's what you're supposed to say," she told him.

"I won't say that, because this wasn't a fuck."

"Then don't say anything." She got up and walked to the office door.

"Next time, I won't clear out the office, so you'll need to figure out how to keep quiet," he warned.

She frowned. "Next time is not a possibility. I'll be finding employment elsewhere." She curtsied and left.

He growled and realized she left so quickly because he could not chase her with his cock hanging out.

Although, he was considering it.

He tucked himself away, pulled his trousers up and paced around his desk like a caged beast.

"Fuck—mite has me circling! You cannot allow her to do this!" he shouted.

His palms slapped his desk and he rested his weight into it.

He kicked the foot of the desk and hoped he broke a toe. Maybe if he was harmed she'd at least feel sorry for him.

.

.

.

Christmas had been lonely, and that was before she had turned obsessed with Edward—her obnoxious boss.

She needed to find work somewhere else and as soon as she could.

She slumped on her couch.

New Year's Eve.

Pah—who cared.

Josh would be fine if she didn't show up.

She could explain it at work on Monday, if she even showed up.

He might never see her again so it would not matter.

Not really.

She sat and tried to read, but her mind was absorbing nothing.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't eaten all day. Substantial food in the house was something she longed for.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap, rap._

Her door rattled as someone knocked hard.

She ignored it. What if it was Edward? She salivated. The back of her hand swiped at her mouth.

She hung her head. Why would he be here? She told him they were not going to be together and that she did not want him.

So why did her heart race uncontrollably at the thought of the mere possibility of him at her door?

Was this what Rose was addicted to? The desire? The craving?

What did that make Isabella? A whore who gave it for free?

"Miss Swan, it's me, Josh," a voice called through the door.

She lifted to her feet, shuffled over and rolled her shoulders back. When she opened the door, she was able to manage a smile for her friend.

"Mr. Templeton," she said, dipping her head.

"Miss Swan, I know this is forward of me, and I didn't seek permission before coming here, so I hope you'll forgive me, but I was wondering if you'd attend a New Year's celebration with me tonight?"

"Where at?"

"Times Square of course." He radiated goodness as he beamed at her.

**A/N:**

**Took artistic license on this chapter and the next one. The Times Square ball drop didn't start happening until 1907. The **_**New York Times**_ **moved into the skyscraper that was known as the Times Tower in 1904. And that area was dubbed Times Square on April 8th, 1904. So, okay, I stretched facts here since these traditions and celebrations did not happen until several years later. I also went this route because I was having trouble finding out where the **_**Times**_ **was located before 1904.**

**Before 1904, most people celebrated New Year's Eve at the Trinity Church, but the Church officials there were sick of the drunks, loud noises and vandalism that took place year-after-year, that when it was proposed the celebrations be moved, they were very supportive. The ball drop replaced a lavish fireworks display from the top of the building that was held from 1904 to 1906, but stopped by city officials because of the danger of fire. Party poopers… **

**Many thanks again are in order for my beta, Anakinsmom. She's speedy quick with these chapters, especially since I dumped the entire story on her all at once. **

**No bog post today, I'm afraid, but chapter 11 will have one. ;D**

**Chanse **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Edward was once again knocking on the door to Isabella's tenement. He should have felt like an idiot and completely out of place being there, but for some reason he was comfortable.

Maybe because he was aware of what was on the other side. She was worth it.

_Rap, rap, rap, rap._

He used his cane on the door like he had last time, hoping it was louder on her end than a fist would be so she couldn't pretend she hadn't heard it.

His eyes stayed level, hoping it would be the same red-haired boy, Tommy, answering. They were familiar with each other, and he wouldn't have to explain a lot to him.

The door remained shut for several minutes. He kept knocking, and no one was answering.

He finally moved over to Isabella's front window and tapped on it.

Nothing.

He peeked inside, and it appeared empty.

Where would she be? It wasn't dinner time yet, and most people didn't leave for New Year's Eve celebrations until after they ate and it was dark out.

He roamed back around front, knocked once more, and this time a stooped-over old lady answered it.

"Yes?" She eyed him with narrowed lids and a look of suspicion. "We already paid our rent."

"Oh, ma'am, no, I don't think you understand. I'm not your landlord . . ."

"Then why're you here?" She groaned and wobbled.

It was obvious she was in pain standing there, and it had been a great effort to answer the door.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for Miss Swan."

"Who?"

"Miss Swan, the widow that lives in this first home." He pointed.

"Ain't no widow lives there."

"Who does then?" He smiled.

Dementia? She seemed harmless but definitely confused.

"A young lass with dark hair. She dresses like she's one of us, but she ain't. She has an education. Her husband was a strange one that way. Taught her to read, write, draw and act like she's putting on airs." The old woman harrumphed and grabbed the door frame. It creaked under the stress of her weight.

"I see . . . She sounds like an odd young woman."

"She is." She spat on the ground in front of his nicely shined shoes.

"I told my Tommy to stay away from her, but make sure she's kept safe. Just 'cause she's bizarre, don't mean I want her harmed. She's nice, just . . . different." She weaved about again.

"I can see this is taxing for you to stand here, so how about I help you back inside?" He offered her his arm and she beat it down.

"No! I don't know you. Scat!" She waved him away and shut the door.

He chuckled as he stepped away and looked down both sides of the street. Where would that little minx have gone?

Edward left and traveled back to the Times Tower. Maybe he'd see if Templeton was there. Although, if that man knew where she was when Edward didn't, he might have to punch the man's teeth out.

He went inside the building, but it was empty. The first floor was deserted. Even the lower levels in the basement with the printing presses were deserted.

Had to admire New Year's Eve in New York. It was a massive celebration, and there was no way he would ring in the new year without giving a kiss to the one little miss he was enamored of.

If she was like the rest of the people celebrating, she'd drink a lot, and he could finally take her back home to his bed.

His chest burned and swelled at the vision assaulting of him of alabaster skin spread out on his sheets, and him spanking her bottom red for running away from him. He'd already told her he wanted her at his disposal. But did she obey him? No. She never did, and most likely, never would, but it was fun trying to break her in anyway.

"Oh, that's right. You lied, and now they're fixing the pretend gas leak you claimed to exist so you can get her alone in your office and have her mouth on you. Brilliant, Edward . . . As always," he told himself. It was supposed to be done by tomorrow so the first floor would be operational again.

He hadn't thought about the ramifications of clearing the building out that day. He only knew he needed to get her alone and away from Templeton.

Edward left Times Tower and had to squeeze through the crowd forming. It was hours before the fireworks would begin, but the masses were starting to gather heavily in this area. If he was going to find her, he had to do it now.

Maybe she was at the Trinity Church since up until now they always held the largest celebration.

As Edward moved toward his carriage, he heard it.

"Josh, no!" her soft voice cooed.

At once, Edward's teeth ground together.

"Come on, Isabella. They're good," Templeton replied.

"I hate them." She chuckled.

"You haven't even tried one. Just give it a bite . . . For me?" Templeton was thrusting something at her mouth.

They were several feet away, sitting on a bench, and Templeton was entirely too close to her for Edward's comfort level.

"Hot dogs are repellent," she said.

"Are not. They're amazing, and you didn't eat much at dinner. It's going to be a long night," Templeton warned her.

That's when Edward's entire head pounded and heated like it was on fire.

His eyelids narrowed until they were slits and his breathing was labored. She was here. With _him_.

Why?

He was dressed like a vagrant. He probably smelled awful, too.

Right as Edward moved toward them, he saw something disconcerting out of the corner of his eye.

Someone else was approaching them as well.

Edward's stomach clenched tighter than his fists.

Stanford, that man—the one that blatantly treated her like a prostitute—was after her.

And Isabella was unaware either of these men were staring at her.

Edward jogged over to him, intercepting, and before Stanford could say anything, Edward had cash in hand and placed it in Stanford's palm. "You will turn around and leave. You will never approach Miss Swan again. She doesn't like you, and neither do I."

Stanford held his breath and his eyes enlarged.

"I have just paid you three months' worth of wages for a top reporter at my newspaper," Edward said.

"You . . . Why?"

"Because she's mine, and I protect her from people like you—people that act like she can be bought."

"But you think I can be bought off?"

"You can. I know the likes of you. If you're offering her money for sexual favors when you know she's not a streetwalker, then that means money motivates you. You've offered what you're familiar with. She doesn't operate that way. She's decent, hardworking and lovely, and you're threatening to change that about her. I cannot allow that. So, leave now if you want to continue to breathe through the night."

"Who do you think you are?" Stanford asked, glancing over in Isabella's direction.

"Why, I'm the man that owns this town, because I control the information and things that are said to the masses, so if you cross me, I'll torment you worse than any devil ever could. I'll put your name in the papers—make sure you're obliterated."

"You have no—"

"Try me . . . Please," Edward snarled, using a low, quiet tone.

"I want six months wages," Stanford said, "and then I'll walk away, never to return. I'll even leave her neighborhood."

"Done." Edward dipped into his money bag, pulled out double what he'd already given Stanford. "I will know if you go back on your word."

"I'm certain you will. Goodbye, Mr. Masen. Good luck with that woman. She's impossible to deal with."

"And that's why you chased her?"

"Why do you?"

"Because I know what she needs, and it certainly is not you." Edward smirked, patted him on the back and sent him on his way.

When he turned around, she was gone. So was Templeton.

Edward went back to the Times Tower, took a spot on the second floor and kept an eye out for her.

She'd be back.

Templeton was trying to impress her, and this was where he had to do it.

This New Year's Eve party, the first ever in Times Square, was supposed to be legendary with thousands of people expected to be in attendance.

Yes, she'd be here.

And he'd be ready for her.

.

.

.

"Maybe we should head over to Trinity Church. The festivals in Times Square are making the streets so congested, I can barely breathe." She glanced down at some vomit in the gutter not more than five feet ahead of them.

People were already drunk and passed out on various benches or leaning up against buildings. It would've been frightening if she hadn't been used to seeing this type of thing in the lower east side frequently.

Only this was more alarming because there were a lot more of them, and dusk had barely taken hold of the sky.

If it was in this state now and they had hours to go, what would happen later when the parties were really under way?

Would Josh help keep her safe? Could she even trust him? She barely knew him.

He seemed nice, but that didn't mean he was a good, decent person.

Josh grinned at her.

"I really think it would be less crowded in lower Manhattan," she said.

"It would be, but not nearly as fun. Let's wait another hour, and if you're uncomfortable at that point, then we'll head in that direction. If we leave now, it'll be harder to get to the center of the celebrations. We've already been pushed back as it is so I could get you a better hot dog." He snickered.

"It wasn't funny," she said.

"It was the funniest thing I've seen in a long time." He handed her the hot dog.

"You swear this is tastier?"

"It's a polish sausage. Much tastier," he said, watching his hand as he passed it to her.

His eyes lit up when her hand brushed his. She felt nothing at all. It was neither exciting nor something she wanted to repeat. He'd done the same thing a few days ago when they had accidentally touched when he was helping her learn more about operating a camera.

He smiled at her the entire time she was eating it.

It was satisfactory, but still not enticing enough for her to seek one out. Kind of like him.

She was polite and swallowed it down.

He offered her a beer, but she declined.

"You know why it's better to be here than Trinity Church?" he asked, eyebrows raised a little.

She shrugged. For some reason her wit failed when she was with him. If this had been Edward, she'd be firing smart comments at every opportunity.

"Less Wall Street types. Bankers are too haughty for me. These are our people—right here." He motioned around them.

There was a great variety of types of people, so it helped her relax a little more.

An organ grinder was playing across the street. Isabella watched his face drop each time someone passed him by without making a donation for his efforts.

Without a word, she leapt off the bench, approached him, and gave him a few coins she'd brought with her.

This would've been a meal tomorrow, but she'd eaten well tonight, so it would be fine. This man might not have eaten at all today, and she knew what that was like. Unfortunately it had been happening more and more lately.

Isabella leaned over his hat, put those coins in and stopped in front of him. "You play well."

"Thank you," the man said, smiling.

"How long have you been a musician?"

"Longer than I can count on my fingers. I think about music before I think of anything else," he said.

"Even women?"

"Yes, even the lasses." He whistled for a moment.

"Truly?" She stepped closer and stood on the sidewalk right next to him. "Can I ask how you got this point, that women and carnal pursuits are not as important?"

He shrugged and kept playing as he took a deep breath. His eyes traveled up to the sky. "The secret is those masculine urges are always there. They never go away."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-six," he said.

"A year older than I am," she observed.

Josh watched with a curious look from across the street. She waved at him and he smiled back.

"How does a man control his lusts so he can pursue his talents and interests more fully?" she asked.

When he hesitated, she pulled out one more coin and dropped it in his hat.

"Please, I want to know." She peered in his gray eyes.

"There's no way to stop being human, not really, but there is a way to focus and achieve greatness through simple means. Do you truly want to know?"

She nodded.

"I listen."

"To what?" She scrunched her nose.

"To the people I care about. If they tell me I'm doing something wrong, I listen, but only if it feels right in my heart. If they were to tell me that music was not in my blood, I would know they care nothing for me and my interests. If they know me, they know I _am_ the music I create." He smiled with a lazy twitch to his lips like he was transforming into the notes as he talked about it. Was his instrument a part of him as well?

Was blood a part of Edward? Was that a talent? To draw blood? How could that be?

She winced and watched this man's fingers work at what he did best.

"And what if a man is unaware of what his talents are, but he has urges that are out of control?" She lowered her voice so no one would hear how shaky it was with the exception of his.

"Talents are easy to find. You consider what you wish you could spend most of your time on, and how it makes you feel when you're doing it. If there's a peace to the soul and a smile in your heart, then you know." He played a little louder.

Josh was crossing the street now. She was obviously taking too long.

"I thank you for sharing your wisdom and your time," she said, curtsying once and then she was completely upright again.

"Before you go . . ." He paused and gave her a look of concern. " I have to tell you, you're missing the point though, in all of this."

"Oh?" She glanced over at Josh who was nearly over to her now.

"You're fighting it. I can see that. But here's what you're lacking—fighting what you are, what your talents and needs are—never works. It destroys you and all those you love. I promise that's the way of it." He tipped his head at her, and started singing.

She paused, tried to let his words envelop her mind for a moment and then cleared her expression and erased her thoughts.

Josh was at her side now, so she pointed down the street. She'd have to ponder more later on what the organ grinder had shared. "Can we head that way?" she asked Josh.

"I thought the center of the crowd was making you uneasy?" Josh shuffled his feet and stared at her ankles.

Ah, it was, but now . . . The organ grinder's words settled her for some baffling reason. "I think my destiny lies in the heart of this crowd. I can't explain it, but I'm meant to be here tonight."

"With me," he added.

"Perhaps."

_Not with you. With a green eyed man that stirs my blood and pounds my heart with his dangerous words and potent tongue._

She blinked and forced a smile.

"Will there be fights later? Do the men get rowdy?" she asked him as they strolled away from the man she'd been talking to.

"They do, but we can stay out of the way. Some of the men in the past have thrown bricks, but I doubt the police will allow that in such a crowded place." Josh's gait sped until she was traveling behind him.

She was complacent to be in the back, for his front and his side did nothing for her. There was a companionship there as friends, but no draw to him.

Not once had she been compelled to sketch him, even though he was good looking enough.

It was a chiseled jaw with a slightly askew nose and creamy jade eyes she was fixated on drawing. It was that messy bronze hair that tickled her neck as he licked her breasts and told her how beautiful she was that held her spellbound.

Her heart rate sped as visions took over of Edward taking his cock in his hands and leaking onto her eager grip she had around the base of him.

She almost tripped.

Josh heard her stumble and turned around. "Are you all right?"

"Quite. Thank you."

"Maybe we should find a place to rest for a bit?"

"That would be lovely," she said.

Once more, he walked in front of her.

When he was far enough ahead she slowed even more and found a wall to lean against.

A pang of guilt smacked her in the chest. He was a friend. Now he'd be upset with her for losing him in the crowd.

She should have never come here with him. They had a cordial platonic relationship, and she wanted it to stay that way. It was wrong to lead him on this way.

So, she turned around and stepped inside the coffee shop behind her.

She asked for water and it was handed to her without charge to her surprise. Her hand gripped it tight so she could keep from spilling. She turned around to find the dark-haired tall man from the _Times_, sitting at a table, watching her.

"Wouldn't you prefer a coffee? It'll help you be alert tonight when things get wild."

"No thank you," she said, taking a sip of her _free _water.

"Why don't you join me . . . There's something I want to talk to you about," he said. He smiled and dimples appeared in his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, but I need to get back out there," she said, ambling toward the exit.

Was there nowhere safe in this city? How did she always run into someone she knew?

"I'm Edward's brother, Emmett," he said.

Her mouth popped open. "Your brother," she repeated, but it sounded like a question.

"Guilty."

"Of what? Deceiving me?"

He smirked, and she could see the resemblance in that moment. "It wasn't done on purpose, and it lacked malicious intent. We rarely have occasion to speak, you and I, and I figured at some point he would have informed you himself."

She chuffed and walked back over to him, leaning into the chair next to him. "Why would my employer feel obligated to share any of his personal information with me? To what avail?"

"To further his cause with you. He might not have told you about me, but he's said enough about you that I know he's sweet on you."

Her face heated. She took a sip of her water to hopefully hide the trace of a blush.

"And what, pray tell, has he shared about me?"

"This man has done things I've never witnessed from him before," he began, but he was too slow for her liking.

"And am I to guess what these miraculous things are, or are you going to tell me?" She tapped her toe for a second and then realized how rude she was being to a man she knew even less than Edward.

"He's donated generous amounts of money to his tenements to fix them up."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Her heart fluttered to think of how much good he had done in that one evening. Kathy had told her how much he'd donated the next day after the rally.

And it wasn't just what he'd done with the money to help those in need that had her breath caught in her throat, but helping her get rid of Stanford that night as well.

He could've been malicious—let Stanford take what he wanted—all to spite her for the things she'd done to Edward.

That was . . . Well, it made her breathless thinking about it. At the time, she had panicked and couldn't think straight. It made her flee from him. And she's used those trollops as her excuse to get far away.

"You may be aware of what he donated under his own name, but you're unaware, I'm afraid, of the thousands he had me donate in his stead, using my name so you would never find out about it. He worried what you might think."

"He said as much?" Her jaw hung open.

"Not in those words, no, but I know my brother. He never does something like that without taking recognition for it. The moment he said no one was to find out, I understood why. I knew it was because of you. It took me a while to figure out who it was for, but when I saw him looking at you at the rally—and how he chased after you—well, there was no further doubt in my mind." She was a little lightheaded now; he continued with a grin, "And are you aware he's bought your building as well? He plans to renovate it and make drastic improvements, starting with your corner. You will have a sink with running water, and down the hallway will be a bath and water closet you'll only share with the tenants on your floor."

She gasped and stepped away. "But that's unheard of!"

"And beyond generous. He has a fixation with you the likes I've never witnessed before. I don't know what you've done to my brother, but I truly pray it will continue. He sees you, and in so doing, it's opened his eyes to other people's plights around him."

"What else has he done?" She inhaled deeply. It was damned hard in that moment to catch her breath. She clasped a hand on the chair in front of her and leaned into it for support. Her other hand trembled, making some water slosh out of her cup.

He came to her aid and set it down on the table.

"My darling is pregnant, and he's helped me ensure a bright future for her and our child. I can never repay him for his kindness. And it's not the money I refer to. He's given me his blessing against his better judgment and that means everything to me."

She curled her fingers tighter around the chair. "You admire him?"

"He's a wonderful brother. He's taken care of me for longer than I can remember, and though he's gruff at times, he does it because his heart is bigger than most. I wish I could . . . Christ, I wish I could repay him in some way."

"You can. You will." She jerked her chin at him.

"How do you mean?" His eyes softened until they were nothing but understanding and patient.

"I see you wear a ring already. Have you married this woman?"

"I have. We did it in secret though I told my brother we'd marry in June because I wanted to see what his reaction would be. It was volatile at first, but then when he calmed, he spoke with sincerity, and I know he'll find a way to care about my wife because he cares about me." He reached out and settled a hand on hers.

"That's how you repay him. You help him feel loved back. He needs that from the people he's closest to. I agree—an enormous heart, but he—

"Isabella—thank God!" Josh cried out, almost tumbling into the room. The door to the shop clanged shut behind him. "I was so worried I'd never find you again in that crowd, growing larger by the minute."

She smiled at Josh though her heart plummeted. She wasn't much good at pretending to be interested in him.

"Oh, sorry, I . . . uh . . . I bumped into a friend, and while we were chatting you kind of got away from me. I'm, uh . . ." She glanced down at Emmett's hand on hers.

He removed it quicker than she thought was possible.

"Thank you for getting her a drink. I've been trying to feed her all day and get her to drink more. She's been losing weight lately, and I'm the only one that's noticed," Josh told Emmett.

The tension in her neck doubled until it felt like the veins in her neck were probably bulging in the most unattractive fashion imaginable. How dare he say this to Emmett in front of her?

"I'm fine. Too preoccupied with learning new things to worry about trivialities like food," she exaggerated to get him to stop this.

"Yes, well, I like a full figured woman," Josh said, chuckling at the end.

"Then let us all take comfort in the fact that we are friends and work colleagues only," she said, taking her water to her lips and gulping it down in an unladylike manner.

"I daresay she is a parched woman—see how she goes, Josh. Get her another drink," Emmett said.

She waved a hand to halt them.

Why must they carry on so?

"You really must join me back in the fray. Some most irregular events are happening now," Josh said, motioning toward the door.

"Is that so?" Emmett grinned. "And you're certain she must join _you_?"

"Yes." Josh's face paled for a moment.

Was there something amiss here?

"Then off with you, and enjoy the festivities." Emmett turned away from them with a sour expression on his face.

Once outside, she said to Josh, "You were too kind to find me. I really am sorry."

"There is no damage, but I need you to see this," he said, taking her by the hand, dragging her in the direction he wandered to before she'd entered the shop.

He pointed at some jugglers on the corner, but her heart and mind were drifting away.

Images of Edward fixing her building and especially her home were rampaging through her mind.

Was that why he'd visited her, really? He wanted to get a glimpse inside because he thought this was what would tip the scales in his favor? That she'd finally succumb to him fully?

Her mouth went dry.

Ha! It always came down to money. _His_. Being tossed around her, making her feel inferior and wishing she could crawl away and hide for a good long time.

"They're very skilled," she commented, her eyes focused on the building behind them.

Times Tower.

It called to her because of a dark and dangerous man that owned and controlled it.

"Watch this! They did this move earlier," Josh exclaimed, pointing.

"Unbelievable," she said, voice monotone.

"Are you well? You sound . . . off," Josh said, turning to her.

In a flash, a thought struck her.

She rubbed her tummy. "I believe that hot dog did not agree with me."

"Polish sausage," he corrected her.

She wanted to roll her eyes but resisted the urge. If she was contrite and appeared miserable enough, he'd take her home and she could get away from him before this night turned into a disaster.

She waited for him to offer to do the chivalrous, kind thing, but he didn't. Instead, he went back to watching the carnival people.

"I've said all I intend to," a familiar voice traveled from behind her.

"No you have not! I am not asking for the reasons you've stated. Please, I need to know!" Rose hissed.

Isabella looked over her shoulder, and Rose was being gripped at the shoulders and shaken briskly. "Woman, you have no right!"

Murray Hall?

What had Rose done now?

Why must she be so secretive and dig for hidden knowledge?

Isabella was walking straight toward them now.

She had no plan on what to say or do, but this man would not hurt her sister-in-law.

"The hell I don't!" Rose gripped his shoulders back. "I have to know!"

"Leave me be!" He was right in front of her face, his jaws snapping at her. "It is no concern of a common prostitute what I do in my personal affairs."

"Desist immediately, sir! Isabella yelled, but the crowd was so loud, they probably couldn't hear her.

"But it does concern me in every way imaginable." Rose was crying.

The tears were easy to see even though it was dark out and the lights were low on the streets with the exception of where various performers were entertaining the crowd. Rose was not in one of those areas. It was dim and more secluded.

"If you persist, I shall make matters worse for you. _That_ you must believe." Murray coughed and pushed her away.

Rose's hand wound back and then it flew at his face.

She scratched, pulled the man's hair and four police emerged out of the crowd, blowing whistles and coming at them from every angle.

"Rose! No!" Isabella hollered louder. She ran, but her feet ached from so much walking already that she wobbled and tripped.

She fell on her belly, and when she looked up, Josh was before her.

"Go help that woman," Isabella told him, her voice frantic. "Please! He'll hurt her."

"She gets what she deserves. God has no place for a sinner like her, and neither do I," he said flatly.

Isabella's wracking sob hit a high pitch when she watched in horror as police were rough with Rose, and blamed the entire hideous encounter on her. It seemed Murray was a politician, and as such was immune to their authority.

Rose was hauled off, and even slapped at one point by a brute of a police officer.

"Rose!" Isabella clawed her way up to standing, but it was too late. Rose was gone.

She rounded on Josh. "I am leaving."

"Why? The fireworks will be here soon . . ." He cocked his head toward the Times Tower.

"You think I care about fireworks when justice is being denied?" She stomped her foot. "You may have once been a decent person, but no more. A shortsighted man will always turn away help to those in need, judge unrighteously and call it justice." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And though I will always be kind to you, I cannot be with you. From this point on, we are no more than acquaintances, Josh. I'll contact your friend, David, myself for help with my camera tutorials."

Avoiding his rebuttal, she left in a rush.

It was easy to lose him in the crush of people, and for that, in this moment, she was grateful.

Telling him to go to hell and that he was shitty was enough fireworks for her.

She headed straight home. There was no way for her to free Rose if they took her to jail.

**A/N: **

**Also, just so you're aware, I was actually rather generous in my description of Bella's home. Rarely did these tenements have windows, and the bottom floor was the worst in terms of smell from the pollution outside. So the fact I let her have a window was me being an old softy. She wouldn't have had one with the exception of the one leading to the balcony where she would've hung out her laundry to dry and placed her produce from the market for the day since they had no other means of refrigeration for their food. **

**Put up a pic of an organ grinder on my blog, and have some fun news to share. Oh, all right, I'll share it here, too. Last week I finished writing a story I plan to publish in the near future. It's being proofread, pre-read and edited now. Should have more news about it soon… It's a scifi erotica, and of course, the lead man has a wicked mouth and a proclivity toward BDSM. ;D**

**Many thanks and monkey-less organ grinder nice guys to pat Anakinsmom's back for beta'ing for me. Once more, I may have to send Edward to her home instead to say thanks. Not sure an organ grinder would be an adequate form of gratitude. She doesn't live in a tenement, so I'm thinking Edward would rather enjoy a visit to her place…**

**Chanse **


	12. Chapter 12

**WARNING: ATTEMPTED RAPE SCENE. THOUGH IT'S EASILY THWARTED, THE SCENE COULD BE UPSETTING TO SOME, SO IF YOU'D LIKE TO SKIP THAT SCENE, THEN SKIP THE FIRST FEW PARAGRAPHS UNTIL YOU SEE WHERE IT SAYS **_**Craaaaaash!**_ **THAT'S WHEN HER EDWARD ARRIVES AND HANDLES THINGS.**

**Chapter 12**

Isabella quickened her pace through Cherry Street alley, avoiding Pigs Alley tonight. It was alarming to hear people cheering and yelling from so far away. She wrapped her arms around herself, the wind picking up and whipping through her hair.

_Click, click, click . . ._

Her heels echoed off the empty buildings around her.

But hers weren't the only ones, and she got the distinct feeling she was being followed.

In a burst of adrenaline, she was running down the street, avoiding taking a glance behind her.

What if there really was a dangerous person following?

She knew how to defend herself, but if there was more than one, she might be in trouble.

She flew at her door once it was in sight, jammed the key in and as the lock gave way, a hand reached out and latched onto her upper arm.

Her hand swung out and contacted a face.

"Let me go!" she howled.

The man gripped her harder and then discarded her like a dishrag, tossing her up against the door.

"Shhh . . . It's me, Isabella. Sorry if I frightened you," Stanford said.

"Oh, Jesus, sorry . . ." She chuckled, but it was tight and tinny sounding.

"I . . . Well, I was heading home as well, and wanted to make sure you arrived safely." His eyes drifted down to her breasts.

She shrugged out of his hold, wrapped her coat tighter around her and crossed her arms over her chest, feigning being chilled from the wintry air.

"Thank you for your chivalry, but as you can see, I am quite safe. I am tired and want to go to sleep now. The day's been wearying," she said, turning the key the rest of the way.

"Will you not reconsider? My bed is cold, it needs warmth, and I have recently come into a good fortune." He pulled out a wad of cash and showed it to her.

Her eyes went lifeless. "No, Mr. Stanford. I will not take your money."

"But you will take another man's?"

"Not once have I done that." Her voice rose in pitch and her left eye twitched.

"Tommy, your neighbor, has told me you allow a man into your home late at night."

"He's the landlord, and I had an emergency that had to be dealt with in my home," she lied swiftly. It was disturbing how easy it was to be dishonest to this man, but he was giving her nasty chills, and making her entire body strain to get away from him. The way her hairs pricked and stood on end at the back of her neck told her he was lying as well about something.

"Goodnight," she said, pushing on the door.

He smacked it open with a sweeping movement and then shoved her against the wall in the hallway.

She'd of course been shoved against a wall by Edward but this was different. It scared her more than anything she could imagine.

"_Landlord_? I think not. Show me what he fixed in your dwelling," he said.

"No. It is no business of yours." She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"You will show me, or I will take what you refuse to give, and if you think it'll be pleasant, you'll . . ." He bit his bottom lip and shook his head.

In a flash, he shoved the money down her dress into her cleavage.

"Take whatever I give you, slut."

"Take your hideous money back!"

"No!" He leaned in and the booze on his breath was thick. "I refuse to take it back, since I always pay a whore what she deserves, and from what I hear, this man's obscenely wealthy. I have to compete and go with the current rates, don't I?" He chuckled.

"I will scream for help, and it will come. You best leave now," she warned, her voice smooth though her insides were quaking and her stomach was so tight, she was seconds away from vomiting.

She inched away from him, but he scooted closer. "Isabella: the woman that pretends to be frigid, but loves to have cock shoved her way." Stanford laughed with a freedom she could not afford in this moment.

She reached into her breasts and plucked the money out. "This is not mine." She inched a little closer to her door. Perhaps if she was quick enough, she could be inside and lock him out.

He might stumble and fall since he was clearly intoxicated.

"Whores are supposed to be greedy, but then maybe I should've brought you food. You seemed to like that last time and had no qualms about eating the meal I bought you. Well, now I'm the one that needs to be fed." He reached for his trousers.

_Craaaaash!_

"Ahhhhh, get off me, you fiend!" Stanford yelled and scratched at his assailant behind him.

Isabella scrambled away from the two men brawling, and unlocked her door in haste.

She was inside, about to close the door when she heard a distinctive growl that made her stomach flip.

"Edward . . . ?" she breathed.

"You will never touch her again!" He had Stanford by the hair and smacked his cheek into the wall.

_Snaaaap, crunch!_

Edward broke a few of the man's fingers when he reached up to choke this boxer.

"Do you know how much I enjoy spilling blood?" Edward snarled. He twisted Stanford down to the ground at an awkward angle, with both of the man's arms behind him.

Stanford said something unintelligible, and then a stream of vulgarities poured out of him.

Isabella missed most of it until she heard the end of something he mumbled about her.

" . . . looks like my missing wife, and that's not a coincidence that she lives here! That was our home! I fucking love her—have to have her! She's to marry me and be my wife. Raise my two children." Stanford yelped when there was another sickening crunch.

Edward's foot slammed down on the center of Stanford's back as he yanked his arms up.

Something collapsed in that man, and he slumped into a heap.

Edward kicked and shoved him out the door, then rolled him into the street.

She ran out to him. "He may be run over."

"As he deserves." Edward stared at him, then suddenly, he was inspecting her. "Did he hurt you? Are you all right?"

"I am whole, thanks to you." She placed a hand over her racing heart. "You . . . How did you know? Did you follow me?"

"I did." He turned a dark shade of pink. "I'm sorry, but I—"

Her lips crashed onto his and she yanked at him by his lapels.

She backed up, stringing him along with her.

People might walk by and see, but in this moment, she didn't care.

He followed after her, gasping for breaths, pulling at her the same way she was at him.

It did not take long for them to shut the door to the hallway and then the door to her home.

Clothes were being shoved aside, and her right breast was exposed.

_Pop, pop, paaaaawwwwp!_

"What's that? Is he shooting at the tenement?" she asked, holding on tight to her savior.

He laughed. "He's unconscious—believe me—you're safe from him." He ran his fingers down her cheek and gave her a heated look.

"Then what can that sound be?" She was on high alert, her eyes darting between the door and window. Her fingers covered her breast and then wound around her middle.

"Fireworks, sweet. Want to see them?"

"How can we? It's so far away, and by the time we get back, they'll be over."

"We have a roof on the fourth floor, correct?" His eyes twinkled with mischief.

"We do, but it's rickety out there, and I can't guarantee it can hold us," she said.

"I'll keep you safe," he promised.

She dragged her hands down his back, settled her palms on his bottom. It clenched in response and her stomach flipped.

"I like the feel of you in my hands," she purred, leaning into him.

"Isabellaaaah . . ." he said with a warning tone.

"Is there something amiss, Mr. Masen?"

"Yes—you." He chuckled. "You don't want to miss this."

"Oh, but I do. I have you before me, and I fear I cannot tear my eyes from you."

"You must. For this—I insist." He took her hand, took her out into the hallway, he grabbed her keys, locked her door and dragged her up the stairs until they were at the top.

He sat down crossed legged and beckoned for her to take a seat in his lap.

"I'm not a child," she said.

"No, you're a lovely woman, and I can't wait to have you in my arms. Join me." He beckoned with a finger crooking her direction.

"Incorrigible man."

"Sinister vixen—teasing me all the day long."

She took a spot in his lap, kissed his lips with a smacking sound and turned her head in the direction of the frightening sounds of explosions.

"It looks like the city's on fire."

"You're evading what you need to share," she said, wiggling in his lap. "You said all the day long, but you haven't seen me until moments ago when you handled Mr. Stanford. What did you mean by that?"

"He was watching you."

"And?" She angled back to see his face.

"And I was watching him, and watching you."

"Why are you hiding something from me?"

"I feel like a shitty heel—does that satisfy you? I gave that money to that man to keep him away from you. I was trying to avoid blood." He squeezed her tight and kissed her crown.

"Why would you avoid bloodshed when you love it so much?"

"Because I love you more, and I want to change for you."

"No!" she yelped. Her hands cupped his cheeks and she wriggled her way around to face him. "I don't want you to change."

"But I must. You don't want me for my money or my looks or talents. What else is there I can offer you? You were with Templeton today because he's decent and all the things you embody. I have a way of being abrasive even when I intend to be soft with you. I want that to cease or I lose the one thing I want more than my empire of vast buildings, newspapers and oil refineries." He curled around her and hugged her tight, swaying a little.

"Edward . . ."

"Yes, sweet?"

"I can't see the fireworks." She grinned.

"That's because you're not looking at them. You're looking at me."

"And I like this view much better." Her fingers stroked up his face. He was so strangely beautiful with his angular features and magnetic green eyes.

"But you've never experienced fireworks before." He pointed, but she ignored it, kissing under his jaw. "Look, Isabella."

"I don't want to. Besides, since it's the second tallest building in the world, and they're shooting the fireworks off at the base, there's no way to view it from here," she added.

"That is true, but when else will you see the city aglow like this?"

She sighed, her shoulders rolled forward and she turned around in his lap.

For several moments, she sat there glum and wanting his hands on her.

Then she realized they were alone.

Her mind filled with wicked, lustful ideas.

She pulled the front of her dress down, and since there was no corset to get in the way, she could encourage him.

Her hands found his, and as he was mesmerized by the shadow of the fireworks across the city, she placed his hands on her bared breasts.

Those nipples hardened right away, and she moaned when he stiffened behind her and a long, cracking moan lifted out of him.

"God, you're . . . You want to here?" he asked.

She nodded and leaned back into him.

His fingers fondled, twisted and rolled her nipples deftly.

She let him take his time until she was burning with so much need, she could scarcely take it anymore.

"Lay down," he told her.

As she was maneuvering to the flooring of the roof, she heard a crash downstairs on the bottom level of the tenement and figured it was someone that was inebriated and finding their way in the dark into their home.

Acrid smoke filled the air.

Those fireworks would make it impossible to sleep tonight. At least not alone.

That burning smell would keep her wide away.

"Make me forget that I hate to need you. Make me forget I feel weak and unwanted." She pulled at the back of his neck, bringing his mouth down to hers.

"Make me," was all he said in return.

"Please . . . I know . . ." She choked on a sob. He was decent, doing good deeds behind her back, and never revealing them to her. He'd exposed what he perceived as his weaknesses or flaw without a second thought, but the light he radiated from his soul, the signs of greatness, he kept to himself.

This was a man she wanted to know.

"Make love to me on this roof. We can almost touch the clouds above, and that's where I want to be with you," she said, lifting her chest so her nipples would graze his shirt.

"If I do, it'll scare you." He showed her one of his shaking hands. "I have that rush in my veins from breaking a man and spilling his blood. I may have crippled him, and I am not sorry in the least, even if it means his children suffer. That vile man . . . Christ, he almost . . . And you've only been with me twice. You're still a virgin in so many ways, and he wanted nothing more than to violate you." He nipped at her lips then backed away like he distrusted himself and feared that he might do even more than what Stanford could've done to her.

"I trust you."

"You shouldn't," he said, his eyes heavy and misted.

"Then _I'll_ make love to _you_."

He cupped her cheeks and ran his thumbs over her eyes, forcing her to close them. "Shhh . . . There's no need. I don't want to hurt you."

"But I want to." She opened her eyes. "You're what I need right now. And you need this, too." She rolled up to sitting, lifted her skirt, straddled him and pushed him down so he was flat on his back. "Someone once told me to just feel. I think you need that same advice."

He began to speak, so she covered his mouth with hers, swallowing up his words and breathy moans.

She pushed down his trousers enough to free him, and when he was loose, she used his straining erection to run through her folds and make her wetter.

"You don't want to do this," he said when she stopped kissing him.

"You read my mind, did you?"

"Isabella." He closed his eyes slowly and licked his lips. "I'm looking out for your interests. This won't be good for you, and I've promised to never hurt you."

"You won't. I know you won't. You can't." She leaned over, unbuttoned his shirt and dragged her nipples over his chest. Those crisp hairs were wonderful, hardening her nipples further.

"It's cold out here. You'll freeze," he said, his voice faint and hitching as she rocked into him and moaned.

The way his tip hit the top of her groin was heavenly.

"Shhhhhush," she said, tilting her hips back more dramatically.

"I can't do this to you," he said, his head rocking from side to side.

She stopped moving over him. "Edward—stop. Just stop."

"No, you stop."

"You're not Stanford," she replied. "I want this . . . With you."

"You want this only because I saved you, not because it's me."

"Again—you act like I'm a sleazy woman that uses her body when it's to her benefit with no feeling and no remorse." She slapped his chest, moved off him, affixed her dress back in place and left him there on the roof.

.

.

.

Edward was stunned into silence.

How could she say such things and believe he thought of her as a common trollop?

So many times he tried to tread carefully with her, and tonight was a prime example of how he had tried to rein in his beast-like tendencies and prove to her he did not think of her that way.

It was the whole damn point of why he refrained from fucking her like an animal out in the open.

There was nothing he would've rather done in that moment than be inside her.

He rubbed his face, trying to wake his brain back up.

After sitting in silence for a few moments, pulling his pants up and fixing his shirt, he stood and left.

This woman was driving him so mad he could barely see straight as he walked.

If he ever figured her out or how to navigate his way into her heart, it would be a joyous day indeed. One worth celebrating with his own version of fireworks—ropes, a blindfold and a nice, raw spanking.

He adjusted his cock, found his carriage down the street and went straight home.

New Year's Eve it seemed would not end with a kiss.

"It's the fucking change into a new century," he complained as he sat alone in his carriage.

Didn't that mean anything to her?

Didn't _he_ mean anything to her?

He gripped his thighs and ground his teeth together the entire way home.

Once on his property, he ripped off his coat and tie, leaving them on the ground and storming through his residence like a man intent on destroying everything in his path.

His knuckles trembled as they blanched white.

He needed to hit—break bone, draw blood.

But would she ever turn to him if he kept doing that?

It was unclear how she felt about it, but most women of her caliber detested this blood sport, but dammit, he could barely keep still.

He rocked back and forth, clutching his head, screaming like a banshee into the night, and cursing his bad luck for ever meeting her.

If it were not for her, he'd be drinking and enjoying the festivities, then he'd have followed it up with fucking a juicy whore, boxing and then fucking once more. It would've been a profitable night for all.

As it was, he still had time to do all those things.

It was an hour to midnight, and he could easily go back to Times Square.

But with who?

Alone?

No.

Not with the way his heart was aching and his skin almost crawling at the thought of touching another woman, let alone letting them touch him.

He didn't like being touched by anyone, except _her_.

That was why he won most of his boxing matches. He was so focused on never letting them get their hands on him, that his heart would pound in his chest and his fists would fly to keep them at bay.

What was it about her touch?

"Ahhhh fuck! No!" He slammed his fists on the dining room table over and over until it sounded like the wood was about to give way.

He stripped down to his union suit, ran back to his bedroom and changed into a worker's type of clothing.

Maybe if he was dressed as a poverty-stricken man, no one would take notice of him and he could do whatever he wanted without any ramifications in the future.

He sighed, feeling like shit dressed this way, but what did it matter if his outsides now resembled his insides?

What good did his money do him at this point when the one woman he desired above all else thought his money a curse and something to be shunned?

God, that woman was infuriating, and so beautiful and lively.

He pushed his head and shoulders back, slipped on some boots and left, this time leaving the carriage behind.

Within a half hour of pacing himself while running, he was at the edge of the boisterous crowd in the Square.

People were hollering in celebration, kissing and groping each other. There were drunks plastered up against building walls and the streets were aglow with a vibrating energy that was thick in the air.

The residual smoke from the fireworks smelled different somehow from what he inhaled at Isabella's tenement.

Wait . . .

His spine went rigid and ice cold.

Was there a . . . Impossible.

Shit! He turned, ran as fast as he could, and found a ride from a stranger in a motorcar to get back to the lower east side. When he got to her tenement, his mouth dropped.

Her home was ablaze, and the rest of the building would soon join it.

He screamed for help, and soon there were men pouring into the street, handing each other buckets with water.

Firemen came. Someone grabbed a hose from the nearby truck and was spraying the place down.

He worked tirelessly with others around him, and once they had the fire doused, he ran inside and screamed, "Isabella! Love, where are you?"

No answer.

He broke her door down that was barely hanging on its hinges, and he sputtered and gagged from all the thick smoke assaulting him.

His heart splintered worse than the charred walls around him when he searched her home and found no sign of her.

Had someone else rescued her because he was not here? Because he was too selfish and calloused to talk to her before leaving?

This was all his doing.

"Isabella! Is-a-bell-ahhh!" he wailed, kicking burned, damaged furniture, and smashing anything he could find.

Thick hands grabbed him around the arms and hauled him out of there.

They chucked him to the ground outside the building.

His eyes burned from the tears and smoke, and his heart never stopped tearing over the possibility she might be dead.

In a moment of insane rage, he stood up, grabbed a nearby man and shook him. "Do you know a Mr. Stanford?"

"Yeah, he's a good guy."

"He's a pig!" Edward spat. "Tell me where he lives!"

"No." The man pushed Edward off, and right as Edward was about to punish him with a punch to the gut, a woman came up behind him.

She settled a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from taking that swing. "I'll show where he lives. He's a villain, and I hope you take your anger out on him."

Edward motioned for her to start walking and show the way.

The man warned him not to do this, but Edward simply glared and growled something foul at him.

Within minutes, Edward was paying her a generous sum to have her knock on the door for him, so Stanford would open it.

The second Edward saw that man's teeth through his sinister smile, he moved the woman out of the way and launched his way at Stanford.

His pummeling blows never stopped raining down on this man.

Blood spattered all over the dark, wooden walls, but it was not enough.

He would pay with his life.

Edward broke ribs, smashed his fists into slabs of stony meat on this man's chest and abs.

He was a working man, built for hard labor, and it was apparent he was a hard worker.

"Daaaaddy!" a four year old shrieked.

Edward glanced up at a golden-haired girl around four years old, holding a ratty old teddy bear.

His heart shredded into nothing but a mess of blood and anguish.

He got off Stanford, kicked his leg and told him to go take care of his daughter.

Stanford rolled to his side, crawled back to her, and before he disappeared, Edward said loud enough so Stanford could hear, "This was your final warning. Come near or touch Isabella, and next time I will not stop whether your daughter's there or not."

Stanford barely looked his way and gave a faint nod, but it was enough of an acknowledgment that Edward was satisfied.

When the door was closed, Edward shoved some cash under it to keep him away and help him pay for a doctor to fix what Edward just broke.

He was a monster, but those children wouldn't suffer because of their idiot father and his poor choices.

Edward stumbled back to Isabella's tenement, bloodied, broken in his soul, and scared more than he'd ever been. He might never see her again, and he may never feel whole for the rest of his days.

**A/N:**

**An all-day street festival culminated in a fireworks display set off from the base of the tower on New Year's Eve, and at midnight the joyful sound of cheering, rattles and noisemakers from the over 200,000 attendees could be heard, it was said, from as far away as Croton-on-Hudson, thirty miles north along the Hudson River.**

**The night was such a rousing success that Times Square instantly replaced Lower Manhattan's Trinity Church as **_**the place**_ **in New York City to ring in the New Year. This switch took place in 1904.**

**Yay! I can't even imagine being there for New Year's Eve back then, let alone now. Must've been thrilling beyond measure!**

**I'm sure the fireworks I watch tonight for the 4th of July will pale in comparison. Happy 4th of July to those of you that celebrate it! ;D**

**Before I go…a few of you have said you're confused by Rose. All I can say is she has her reasons for lying to Bella about what's truly going on with her life, and I promise you'll understand soon enough. It'll all be explained, but I will say, yes, she did marry Emmett, and she does live with him.**

**Thanks again to Anakinsmom for beta'ing like mad for me lately. She's a gem!**

**Chanse**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

_Sir, a Miss Isabella Swan came to see you, but you were gone. She was in quite a state, disheveled, smelled of smoke and ash, but I turned her away. She was clearly a vagabond, but I thought it prudent to tell you she was here and may come back._

Edward reread the note from one of his servants several times and kissed it over and over.

She was alive.

Thank God, and she'd come to him for help.

But where did she go afterward? He'd checked the hospitals, and there was no one there by her name or description Hell, he'd even gone searching for her at various churches and establishments for the less fortunate people in need of a bed for the night.

His body shook, and his legs nearly gave out as he walked to the bathtub.

This blood was going to be difficult to scrub off because there was so much of it on him.

He stripped out of his clothes, dropped them on the bathroom floor and ran his bath.

When he was done, he collapsed in bed.

It smelled odd in here.

Like a woman had been in his sheets, and he hadn't been with any other woman in an intimate manner since he'd had Isabella.

She never graced his bed, unfortunately.

He took a deep whiff.

Lavender.

Like Isabella.

His window flapped and a breeze sent the curtains billowing in the air.

He dragged his leaden limbs over to the window, secured it shut and stared out into the backyard.

"Where are you, sweet? I want to help you. Need you so much." He gripped the back of his neck and started kneading the tense muscles there until he realized how badly it was making his abraded knuckles sting.

"Sssfffff!" He inspected the damage. He'd had worse, but not in quite some time.

He'd been sloppy with how he'd beaten Stanford.

His poor form may have broken a few of his knuckles.

Worth it.

He smiled, went back to his bed and dropped straight to sleep.

His dreams were of course about none other than a little miss with dark hair, beckoning eyes and a moan like a goddess ready to breed with him.

.

.

.

Isabella rolled off the bench outside, and rubbed her arms.

It was freezing, but there was no snow, and thankfully she'd been present enough in wits to have the wherewithal to grab a blanket off her bed before fleeing the inferno that had become her place.

She nuzzled her nose into the blanket and inhaled deeply. It smelled of Edward and sex.

Her nipples tightened and her breath caught.

She almost seduced him last night on the roof, but he refused to let her take the lead. Frustrating man.

Tears kept falling, moistening her dress and her blanket. She cursed herself for making it even more difficult to keep dry and warm.

She rocked back and forth in place, and knew it would be dawn soon.

Today she had to find new employment.

She stared at the lush greenery surrounding her. It was easy to imagine this place being a profusion of flowers in the spring.

The gardener had good taste.

She stretched, yawned quietly then folded the blanket and hid it behind a bush. It was very likely she might have to sleep here again tonight. She took a deep breath and moved along before she was discovered for trespassing and sleeping in a place that was not meant for the likes for her.

Her toes cramped up when she landed her feet on the sidewalk.

These boots were her least comfortable but they'd been by the door, so she'd grabbed them on her hasty retreat from her place.

Her feet were protesting already, but she was glad she had them.

Every step yielded a grumble from her stomach and a cramp in her side from sleeping on a hard bench in that garden.

But she was alive, and she could find a way to survive and continue to help Rose out.

Isabella wandered down the street, feeling odd in such a lavish neighborhood. She was clearly out of place unless she was there as a maid or some other type of servant.

It wasn't until she was passing street vendors that her chest loosened and the wringing in her heart dissipated.

Where could she apply for work that would utilize her skills?

The newspaper was no longer an option, but maybe if she could become a photographer, she might be able to submit to magazines . . .

Her eyebrows lifted and the beginnings of a smile formed.

This city was full of life, and so magnificent, there was an endless array of subjects to target and capture through a lens.

The only problem was she didn't own a camera and could never afford one.

Her feet didn't seem to heed her as she told herself to apply for a job in a coffee shop, but instead, she was walking toward the _Times_ and following the newsboys trickling in to get their load for the day.

When she saw Josh, he winced then proceeded to ignore her.

She approached him with great trepidation and finally said, "I'm sorry about last night. I never meant to be rude or hurt you." Her pride stung just looking at him. It was difficult to apologize when he was so much in the wrong by turning away from her family—Rose.

"You shouldn't be here. I'm working," he snapped, shuffling stacks and then handing them out by the load.

"I won't be here long. I only ask that you tell me where David is or where he lives so I can ask for his assistance. I can no longer work at the _Times,_ and last night my home was burned down. I don't even have any money for food and I . . . Well, I . . . I need this small favor from you. Would you . . . Jesus, I mean, can you . . ." Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped them away hoping he would be kind enough to avoid making mention of them.

"Don't cry. My word, anyone would think I just stabbed you."

The paperboy before him snickered.

She glared at the little scamp.

"Quiet," she said, her head dipped low and staring at him through her lashes.

The boy went somber and silent.

"Please, Josh. Don't force me to be relegated as a servant to some haughty wealthy cad. You know I'm educated and smart enough to do more than wash windows." She moved next to him and started helping him with his chore of parceling out the batches.

He stopped what he was doing, turned to her and gave her an incredulous look. "I'm a fool. You don't deserve my help, you ingrate."

"I know." She blinked and swallowed, her mouth going so dry, it hurt to breathe.

"Say you're sorry once more, and I'll consider it," he said.

She nodded briefly and replied, "I am more sorry than you can ever know . . ." _that you're a knave, and tricked me into believing you might be worth befriending._

"All right, you may find him reluctant to help you without me near. He's an odd fellow, and suspicious of your sex. But he lives down the block. Turn right at the corner up there," he pointed, "and he's the fourth house in on the right. Can you remember that?"

She grinned. Was he teasing, acting like she was slow of mind? "Of course I can, and you can eat the debris I kick up from last night's festivities as I run down the street." She patted him on the shoulder and loped off.

She'd find a way to get David to see she was trustworthy. He'd help her. She was sure of it.

It was easy to find his residence, and she could barely keep from smiling at how this morning seemed bright as the sun made its appearance.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

She glanced down the street. There were a few people stirring to life, but other than that, it was fairly quiet.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

"What in God's name are you doing at my door?" a man barked as he yanked the door open.

The barrel of a shotgun was level with her face.

She backed away, hands up in the air to signal her surrender. "I apologize if I woke you, but may I ask if you remember me?"

"Of course I do!" He sniffed and cocked his head then squinted. "Bonnie, right?"

"No." She took another step back since he was wobbling while holding that firearm. "Isabella. Josh is a work colleague of mine, and the two of you were helping me to figure out how to use a camera. I am currently jobless and want to pursue this type of work. Is there any way you would consider lending me the use of your camera? What if I just used it down the road at Times Square to show what the aftereffects are of last night's jubilee?" She lowered her arms a little—they were aching at the shoulder sockets.

"Do you think I'm a simpleton? How do I know you would not run off with it, never to return?"

"I will give you my boots in exchange. Please, sir. My house was burned down last night; I have no money, no job and need to eat." Her voice cracked and went high pitched as tears threatened to drop again.

Her shoulders inched up on her ears. The thought of being barefoot in this chilly weather was heinous, but she had little options.

"Stay right here." He grunted, turned around, shoved his door back open and then disappeared inside.

She hugged her torso over her coat and then a moment later rubbed some warmth back into her arms again. It helped a little, but the heat was fleeting.

"Here," he all but shouted as he rejoined her and shoved a biscuit into her hands.

Her eyes went wide. "Thank you. May I call you David?"

"No, you may not! We are not familiar, and I am not about charity, I just can't stand hearing your stomach be so loud. It's hurting my head." He backed up until he was leaning against his door, and he studied her.

"You're cold."

"Yes, I am." She stared back. How had she missed how eccentric and bizarre this man was the last time she was around him?

Oh, yes, that was the day she had to get out of the _Times_ so she didn't land in Edward's office, throwing herself at him. She'd asked Josh to help her find a photographer outside of the building to tutor her. He'd obliged, but it didn't last long.

Edward.

Always there—and that damn pull she felt toward him.

"You're tired."

"I am that as well," she agreed.

"You're telling the truth about your job, your home and lack of food."

She simply nodded this time. "Can you help me?"

"I don't want to, but I will."

She leaned over to remove her boots, but he made a disgruntled clicking sound.

"What am I supposed to do with a little woman's shoes?" He exhaled with a scraping sound.

She straightened up. "What else can I offer you in exchange?" Sparks of fear flooded her. What if he wanted sexual favors in return? What if he wanted her mouth on him?

She fought off a grimace.

"I don't want a damned thing from you, woman!"

She frowned.

"I don't understand. Are you helping me or not?"

"I am. I'll go with you. I don't allow my camera out of my sight, so wait here, and I'll be back in a little bit." He flicked something off his pants. Was it food?

He looked pretty disheveled and in need of a bath, but she probably looked worse, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

David returned several minutes later, mumbling something as he dragged his camera equipment out.

"Ready?" he asked, failing to look at her.

"I am, sir. We can go wherever you want. I do ask that you maybe let me keep a few of the pictures so I can try to sell them."

He tensed, held his breath then sucked in a gust of air. "I want you to take all of them. What would I want with some amateur photos?"

"Nothing I suppose." She smirked. He was surly, but she liked him immensely. He was easy to understand and relate to. All business and little pleasure. It was people like them that kept this city running smoothly.

He walked with her down the street, and when she offered to help carry some of the equipment he declined and smacked at the air in her general direction.

"You need to learn I don't treat women like pack mules. I carry my own supplies, so don't ask me again."

She pursed her lips and her eyelids scrunched. "I suppose it would be acceptable for me to get you a coffee though?" she teased.

"Do you ever cease your prattle? I tire of all this noise," he said, trying to hide a grin.

"I like working with you, David. I think we have a decent accord, and if you wish to work in silence, then I'll accommodate you as best I can."

They took up a spot across the street from the Times Tower, and he showed her how to focus the lens, find her subject and center them.

She gasped when Edward arrived in a motorcar, stepped out of it, looking sharp as ever, only it seemed he was concealing his hands deliberately.

_Cliiiip!_

She swallowed as her mouth watered. These photos would be developed. And she'd have a picture of him that she could admire anytime she wanted. Lord, he was a beautiful, _beautiful_ man.

He stood on the pavement, appearing lost and deep in thought.

_Cliiiiip!_

Another picture of him to hoard.

This was . . . God, she could do this all day. He looked edible and so powerful in his tailored suit.

A few moments later, he sauntered inside the Times first floor.

She bit back a groan of disappointment and found other people to photograph.

There was a lot of debris left over from last night, and a few winos still passed out on the streets.

She captured a few of them, and even got a picture of a few city workers dousing the remains of fireworks to ensure they wouldn't cause a fire from smoldering ashes.

There were a few interesting moments she caught, like a man making a face when he helped a little girl into a carriage. She also got one of a pregnant woman patting her tummy and talking to what Isabella presumed was the woman's husband.

It was a tender moment.

After a few hours of work, David grew really terse with his responses, and he seemed agitated about something.

"Thank you so much for your assistance today. I think it's probably time we stopped though." She shook his hand.

"You're welcome. I'll develop those pictures this afternoon. You can pick them up around dinner time," he said, tipping his hat at her and then leaving her on the street.

She stood, staring at the Times.

What would Edward do if she walked in there right now?

His servant turned her away last night, and she was too exhausted to beg for entry, so she left.

Found a place to sleep.

She was still emotionally raw today, too vulnerable to ask a man for help when he'd rejected her as she'd bared her body to him on the roof and then at his door—his servant sent her away as well. It was obvious he'd had enough and no longer wanted her.

The tip of her boot hit the wall in front of her repeatedly. What was she supposed to do until she received those pictures from David?

Her fingers curled in on her palms and twitched. What she wouldn't give for a piece of paper, a pencil and a drink of water.

She roamed over to the coffee shop where she'd gotten that water last night. Maybe they'd be generous and give her another? Some shops charged for a glass of water but last night they hadn't. Were they simply being generous for the holiday celebrations going on outside their door in that moment?

She entered the door and smiled at all that looked her way.

When the man behind the counter smiled back, a little flicker of hope flared inside her.

"Please, sir, may I have a drink of water? I've been working outside, and although it's a brisk day, I'm really thirsty," she said.

"Why certainly."

"I cannot pay though. Is that a problem?"

"Not today it isn't," someone from behind her said.

It was Mr. Bryant. What was he doing over here by Times Tower?

"Oh, well, I . . . I'm very humbled by your generosity. Thank you." She shook his hand.

"I'm delighted to help someone such as you."

"I'm always happy to hear that, since right now I need help more than ever." She brushed a few loose strands out of her face and was painfully aware of how shabby she appeared.

The shopkeeper handed her the water, Mr. Bryant paid him what was owed, and Mr. Bryant helped her over to a table.

"What do you need help with, Miss Swan?"

"I can't work at any of the newspapers anymore because of some inappropriate overtures happening there, but I need work. I need my wages. I don't know that I'll get paid for what I did the days leading up to today, and my house burned last night," she said in a rush, once more wiping hair out of her face.

Why was she such a mess today? She'd been through worse than this.

"And so you need work, and I need help as well." He tapped his chin with his index finger and wore a thoughtful expression. "You once changed your name so you could work for me. Why not do it again?"

"There was not enough work for me as an artist to keep my pay steady and keep me consistently busy. I'd like to move on to photography. I was tutored today by an expert, and he's willing to continue helping me if needed. Is there any possibility the paper has its own camera I'd be able to use, and that I could be employed that way with a fake name in place?"

His eyes lit up.

"I daresay all of that could be arranged." He grinned so hard there were wrinkles surrounding the outer edges of his eyes.

"What must I do to attain this coveted spot?" She drank the rest of her water in a few gulps in case he said she could leave right now and start work immediately.

"I'll need samples of your work," he said.

She nodded and tapped her fingers on the table. "Yes, sir. I can bring you the prints tomorrow morning first thing."

"You do that." He stood so abruptly his chair scooted back and made a horrid scraping sound on the floor.

"It needs to be of a high standard. We don't accept shoddy work," he warned.

"It will be to your satisfaction." She swallowed and her throat burned with dryness. Still parched.

One glass was less than sufficient to hydrate her.

"Oh, I am certain it will be. I'll be waiting." He left.

She asked for another water, and the man behind the counter frowned for a moment but allowed her to have one for free.

He must've heard what she'd told Bryant.

She thanked God for helping her today and making her search extremely short and profitable.

In a few days she'd be able to eat again. She'd maybe have a home and a bed to sleep in.

**A/N:**

**No blog post today. Many thanks to Anakinsmom for beta'ing for me.**

**Chanse**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Edward had looked for her everywhere on New Year's after he was done making sure the repairs on the first floor at the Times were completed. All the things he'd done to create a gas leak to make his story plausible, were now a thing of the past.

The woman evaporated more so than the gas that had been in the air at the office, and then she floated away just as unseen and unheard. Must have, because she seemed to be completely absent from the city.

She was tiny, yes, but noticeable. At least to him she was, and he could imagine only all too well every man near her being aware of her in the same way he was.

He stood in his bedroom, naked, before his window, staring out into his yard.

"Come back to me for help," he gritted. "Dammit—you have to come back."

He set his palms on the icy panes. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground tonight, but something inside him said to open the window and leave it that way as he slept.

He made sure the fireplace had a decent fire going then he threw open the window and crawled into bed.

There was a moment he shivered from the cold, but as soon as the bed warmed to his body heat, he drifted off.

His dreams were vivid tonight.

_He was surrounded by a massive gathering, throwing a party,_

_His hand raised to toast with his drink, and then when he turned to find Isabella to clink glasses with her, the scene shifted to him on the roof of one of his tenements, with Isabella tucked under him, and his cock tucked inside her._

_Her hair fanned out around her, and then it caught fire._

_The blaze raged and ate at her skin._

_He tried to put it out as he screamed in desperation for help._

_But none came._

_All the while, he was stuck inside her._

_He couldn't get his cock out._

_No matter how hard he yanked at the root, it was impossible._

_The flame moved to his body, and when it hit his heart, he exploded in a wave of a white flame._

_But it didn't char him to ash._

_Quite the opposite. It seemed to purify him, and when he touched her over her heart, she exhaled._

_Her breath washed over him, extinguishing the fire, and they were both a brilliant white, gleaming in the sunlight._

_He kissed her, licked at her lips, and then she shrieked, clutching at her throat._

_Was she suffocating?_

"_No, Isabella, no! You can't . . ."_

_He covered her hands with his own, wrapping them around her neck._

_And then she came with the most passionate climax he'd ever seen._

_He crashed his chest into hers._

_Then the roof opened up, swallowed them whole, and he could not find her as he fell and never landed._

His eyes flashed open, and his breath clung inside his lungs like a wild animal would that was being torn from their home.

He jackknifed in the bed, clutched at his chest and then gasped when he saw her.

She stood at the foot of his bed, shaking all over.

Her lips were blue, and she said something so quiet he failed to hear it.

"He-hhhhhelp-p me," she said, and then she crashed to the ground.

He jumped out of the covers, dragged her over to the fireplace and then grabbed his blanket off his bed.

She had a ratty one wrapped around her, but it had holes and was threadbare in several spots.

He ran over to the window, shut it and locked it up.

His skin was chilled already in the brief moments he was out of bed.

How much colder she must be since it was evident she'd been outside in the snow.

He climbed under the covers with her, rubbed at her arms, her thighs and snuggled up into her.

Christ almighty, she was freezing.

He'd have to warm her up.

He yanked at her clothes under the blanket. They were damp.

They refused to budge, so he tossed the blanket off, and she turned her head enough to glare at him.

"D-d-d-donnnn't do thaaat!" Her teeth chattered. "Soooo cold."

"I know, sweet. I want to get you dry and then we'll heat you up as soon as we can," he said.

He turned her onto her stomach, unbuttoned her dress—the one she'd worn last night at the New Year's Eve celebrations and then pulled it off her.

"I slehhhpt in your g-g-g-g-garden last night, but t-t-tonight was cold-der," she told him, her voice lacking strength.

It was so unlike her that his heart ached to listen to her like this.

"I'm glad you did, but I wish you would've knocked on my window last night though. I would have let you in," he replied.

He removed her boots. She was nude now, like him.

He reached down, pulled the blanket up over her and then tugged her into his side and draped half her body onto his.

"Shhhhiiiit! My God, it's amazing you can breathe when you're this cold," he said.

"Sssssorrrry," she said and then a racking tremble hit her for a moment.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her head repeatedly.

"Never be out in the cold. I'll always help you."

"Y-you turned me awaaay, Ed-wward. You didn't want meeee." She shook her head and clenched her jaw, like she was trying to force the words to come out smoothly and quicker.

"That's not what happened." He pulled her long hair out from under the blanket so it would quit chilling her back, then he created friction on her shoulder blades with his hands.

"What d-d-diiid then?" She pressed her icy toes into his calf.

He gasped and then inhaled deeply.

How could he warm her up faster?

The embers from the fire had died down.

Maybe he should get up and stoke it?

"I'll tell you briefly what transpired then I'll get this fire going stronger so you don't die of a chill."

She slapped his chest with feeble fingers, and said, "I won't d-d-die. Not for yoooou any-w-way."

He chuckled. Her spirit was back.

"Fair enough. I'll hold you to that promise."

"What ha-happened on the rrrroof?" She tried to get closer to him.

He finally rolled her onto her back and lay on top of her.

His lips ran over her neck. "I was protecting you from me."

"Noooot wha-t happened, and you kn-now iiiit."

He nipped at the curve of her neck, sloping into her shoulder.

"It's exactly what took place. I knew I could not contain myself, so I chose to be cautious and keep you safe."

A sob tore out of her. "No-no-no. You don't wa-want me. I couldn't ev-ven seduce Romaaan, and he was my h-husband for a yeaaaar." She hiccuped and then cried harder.

He stroked her cheek with his right hand and stared in her eyes. "Tell me what happened between you two. Why didn't he make love to you?"

She swallowed and shook as she cried harder. "I . . . I do not knoooow. I tried—I d-did, but he would get mmmmad when I tried to touch him."

His heart clenched. Like him? He didn't want to be touched, but not like that. Not with her. He gave certain latitudes so he could be intimate with a woman. Honestly, it wasn't necessarily that he disliked touch, he just wanted to be in charge. Something inside him wanted to cage a woman, pin her down and fuck her his way without any regrets.

It was the only time he felt free outside of spilling someone's blood.

Until now that was . . .

Isabella seemed to hold the key to his cage.

He wanted her to feel equally as free as he did.

"Do you think he was worried he might be too rough and hurt you?"

She shrugged with a little lift of her right shoulder.

The blanket fell of her arm, so he wrapped it back over along with her shoulder.

"Why that man did not tear your clothes off right after you wed him, I may never be able to comprehend. I want you every moment. I want you on my desk at work. I want you again in my carriage. I want you in my new motorcar I just bought today. I want you in my bed, on the floor, in the garden and on every tenement roof I own," he said, licking his lips afterward. "If I can touch you like this every night, without the frostbite accompanying it, I would be the happiest man ever."

"Even if I ssssaid I did not want ssssex?"

He smacked her thight with a light tap. "Do not blaspheme in my presence, woman. You like having sex with me."

"Too much," she whispered, wiggled her way down a little and kissed him on the ribs.

She made this soft humming sound as she nuzzled her nose into his side.

"There is no such thing as too much with you."

She chuckled, and then it turned into a wheezing cough.

He turned them both on their sides then caressed her back until it stopped.

"C-can't stop shhhhhaking," she said.

"I know, love. I'm considering placing you in the bathtub with some warm water."

"You h-have t-t-t-o kiss me, Edwwward. That meltsss me everyt-time." She coughed again.

He smiled. "Tell me it makes your puss wet, and just try to stop me from kissing you until you're so mad with lust, you can only think about me being inside you."

Her hand slid down his stomach and then she cupped his length.

He was flaccid, due to how cold he was from her proximity, but that certainly would change soon if she was going to stroke him there.

"I have a sheath. Do you want me to wear it?"

"That is presumptuous, ssssir," she said, smacking his arm.

"It is being careful with a woman that is most precious to me, and not to be trifled with. I know how well you like to break noses when there is cause."

She laughed and once more, it turned into a fit of hacking coughs.

"I was in jest, sweet. You're not feeling well, and I won't take advantage of you when your body needs to heal." He pulled her back to face him, kissed her nose, then at the right corner of her mouth, followed by the left, and when he landed in the center, she opened her mouth to him right away.

His tongue dipped inside. She sighed and her head lifted to meet him and take him deeper.

God, he wanted her so much. It was amazing how quickly she was able to make him hard. All they'd done was kiss, and he was damn near throbbing for her.

"Plllease, don't turn mmmeeee down ag-gain," she whimpered.

"But you're . . . You mean more to me than a whore to be fucked. I don't want you to think that I . . ."

She stroked at the nape of his neck. Her eyes filled with so much pain. "I know—I know th-that. I want you. I neeeed you inside of me."

He got up, grabbed his sheath from his bureau drawer, and put it on.

She devoured him with her eyes as he did it.

When he rejoined her in the blanket, she was noticeably warmer.

"If you tire, or you feel like you're too ill, you tell me," he said.

She nodded and beamed at him.

In the next breath, he was under the covers, sucking on her breast, whispering his fingers through her cleft and telling her how beautiful she was.

It was of no consequence to him that she'd been without a home for the last day and had no access to running water.

He took his time, pleasured her until her flesh was pink and warmed again, and when she fell apart and came, that was when he joined with her, slipped his way inside her snug hole.

He bent his head down, took her mouth with his and showed her with his tongue what his cock was doing inside her puss. In, out, slow pulsing rhythms, slick and writhing.

She grew louder when he pinched her nipples, so he kept doing it.

"Never run from me," he said, keeping his body immobile inside of her. "Never do that to me. It racks me to be apart."

"Move in me," she said.

"No. You need to say you'll stay here," he paused and kissed her, "with me. You have nowhere else to go. And I want you here."

"Then I truly look the great whore," she said, her teeth no longer chattering and her skin warmed nicely.

"You look to be a woman that's intelligent," he pinched her right nipple, "caring," he pinched the left and held on with both hands, "responsible woman." He gave his hips a little shove, going as deep as he could.

She gasped as he yanked up and up and up on her nipples.

Her back bowed off the floor.

"This is coercion, that's what this is," she said, breathless.

"When I'm fucking you, my mind is wiped clean; I know it's the same for you. This time—just this once—let's be in tandem with our thoughts. It's not only about making love, it's about joining together, being united. And we need each other whether we are happy about it or not."

She shook her head. "I can't stay here in your home with you each night. It's ludicrous. I don't belong with someone like you."

He leaned over and scraped his teeth along her jugular. God, how he wanted to bite and leave a mark there.

"Someone like me or _me_ specifically?"

"Either. Or both." She shook her head with her eyes glazed. "I . . . I don't know why you persist in this."

"You need to be taken care of, and I have the means to do it. We can agree it's temporary if you like, but the fact exists you need shelter, and I can provide it easily." He licked along that pulsing vein. Her temperature was much warmer now, almost hot, and her heart beat was strong.

"I want you in my bed with me nightly. I will take care of you." He nibbled down the column of her neck and released her tits.

She exhaled with a stuttering, winded sound.

Her puss clenched around his cock in rapid succession when he did it.

As if she had discovered something, she started purposefully using her internal muscles to create a wave-like motion, and creating suction. It forced his shaft to move from her deliberate action.

He smiled at her and raised an eyebrow.

"You're determined to kill me, aren't you, little miss?"

"Are you referring to me? I barely lost my maidenhead; I have no way of knowing what a man might want from me," she said, sounding innocent and making his dick harder.

"You are a minx, and you know exactly what to do to get to me." He relinquished his bargaining tool and rocked in and out of her. "Someday you will choose to listen to me and obey, and on that day, it might be the second-coming."

She barked a rasping laugh. "I think you may be right."

She ran her fingers over his chest with a gleam in her eyes.

Was she admiring his body?

"So beautiful, and so alluring. I can barely look at you, it's too good," he said.

Her eyes widened and then went heavier than before. "This is not a time to flatter me with false statements."

"It's the truth."

She turned her head to the side, and he continued to thrust into her.

He smacked her breast.

She choked on her breath and her head jerked back to him. "Why did you accost me?"

"I was gathering your attention. Do I have it now?" He smirked.

"You never lost it, sir. Do not hit me."

"It was a love slap, and you needed it." He dipped his head back down, and this time he bit her nipple—hard.

"Ow! Jesus!"

She arched into his mouth though, instead of pulling away.

"You want more. Tell me it hurts, but it floods your puss with pleasure and makes it squeeze me harder." He bit her bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth and then released it with a pop. "One more like that, and you're sure to come, but maybe in a different spot."

"Maybe nowhere!" she said, her voice going up in pitch, but she failed to catch her breath and her pupils dilated.

It was easy to see it made her even more amorous.

"This is how we share blood lust while fucking, Isabella." He bit her other nipple, even harder, and this time there was no yell.

"Ooooohhhhhooh, dear gaaaawd!" Her chest pulsed up and down, and each time it raised, it was like her heart was seeking his out.

"Time for another slap, but in the place of my choosing," he warned her.

"Oh, all right!" she gritted.

He held his hand aloft, his palm ready to do it.

She stared at it mesmerized.

He pulled out of her with impressive speed and then he licked the inner length of his fingers.

She squirmed for a second, and then _slaaaap_!

He hit her puss, pushed her legs open with his own, kneeled and did it over and over.

_Slaaap, slaaaap, slaaap, slaaaap!_

"Oh, oh, my, I'm . . . It feels so . . . Edward!" Her eyes followed his hand, and she appeared in a trance.

"Come on my hand," he said.

"I . . . That's crude," she replied.

"Come." _Slaaap_. "On." _Slaaap_. "My." _Slaaaap_. "Hand." _Slaaap_. "Now, mite!"

_Slaaaap!_

She yelped, her legs trembled and then she convulsed, climaxing so hard she failed to breathe. Her chest rose as if a rope was pulling her up toward the ceiling.

He was on her now, kissing, licking, biting and groaning with a low vibration; he could feel her heart race harder.

She sighed through a lingering moan after she was done coming, and then went lax.

He was still hard and wanting, but it didn't matter. She was here with him, and he didn't need to climax right now to feel whole.

He gazed at her pink, heated skin, and now wondered if he even needed to stoke the fire in the hearth.

She coughed for a moment then settled on the ground.

"This is ridiculous," she said, draping her arm over her eyes, shaking her head vigorously. "I shouldn't like this or want it, but I do. It's brutal, and it's lovely, and it's fire in my belly, working its way out into my puss."

"It's you, and it's me. This is us. This is how we connect, and it's better than anything I've ever felt. I love it, and I want it all the time," he told her, sealing his words with a kiss. "And I'll do anything to make that come true every damn day."

**A/N:**

**I keep meaning to share that I'm not sure if they called it a woman's vagina a puss back then or not. I kind of made it up since I was tired of saying cunny from God and My Right. This is my variation on pussy. Just go with it. We'll all be much happier if we do. ;D**

**Very long blog post today with tons of visuals of what Edward's home and garden look like, along with Isabella's living situation as well.**

**Thanks to Anakinsmom for beta'ing for me. There's always a fun secret place for her in Edward's lusty garden…**

**Chanse**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Stubborn, stubborn woman.

He shook his head while he loomed over her.

"Please, get in my bed, Isabella."

"I'm happy here," she said.

"Your bones keep popping and creaking each time you move."

She pointed at the window. "It's light outside. We need to go to work," she said.

"We're not going anywhere." He set the tray down next to her head. She fluffed the pillow and sat up. "Since you conceded and allowed a pillow, perhaps you'll use a little more common sense and let me feed you?" His right eyebrow popped up.

"Food?" Her voice took on a sexy, rasp. "What did you bring me?"

He lowered himself to sitting cross legged and replied, "See for yourself."

"You made waffles?"

"No, I don't cook. I burn. My housekeeper made you waffles topped with butter, orange marmalade and she even made you some tea to go with it."

She sniffed and grinned. "I love waffles, and I love anything with oranges." She clapped and then dropped the blanket.

Her pert breasts were on full display.

She reached for the food, and he yanked it away from her grasp. "I have a condition."

"You already fucked me last night." She pretended to pout.

He chuckled. "Yes, I did, and that's not what I'm asking for." He handed her the plate. She set it in her lap.

"What could I possibly have that you might want other than my body?"

"That sounds so coarse, Isabella." He fanned himself, pretending he might faint. "I'm shocked by you."

"Please tell me."

"Oh, all right." He dipped a finger in her marmalade and licked it off. "I want you to tell me everything you remember about Roman."

Her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Let's just say I'm a curious fellow, and want to know how he won your heart."

She cut into the waffles and took a large bite. After she chewed and swallowed, she said, "He . . . Well, it's complicated." She rubbed her chin on her right shoulder and her eyes dropped to the floor.

"Isabellllllaaaa," he warned, tipping her chin up with his index finger. "You're evading. I won't allow it."

She took another bite and swallowed.

"The day I met him and his sister, both of our families were dragged out into the street in the middle of the night. Roman wasn't there though. He was inside. They beat my father, and shot him. Then they were going to rape our mothers, his sister, and me."

"Who was doing all of this?" he asked.

"I don't know. They said we hadn't paid all of our rent, but I know they lied. My father always paid. They shoved us into the mud, and ground our faces into it. My mom was stripped, and so was Roman's mother, but when they came after his sister, Roman came out of the house with a gun, shot two of them in the leg, and then all six of the men ran away, never to return."

"He scared them off." Edward sat and listened, taking it all in. "And you fell in love with him immediately."

"Not exactly." She took an even larger bite than the last two, like she was ravenous and could not eat enough to fill her stomach.

"Then how did you fall in love?"

"We didn't. Not really." She wiped her mouth with the back of her left hand and gave him a look of annoyance. "We became friends. I felt safe around him. He never pawed at me or made inappropriate advances. He noticed that I was barely literate, so he taught me how to read better and how to write and draw. We spent a lot of time together, and it was nice."

"And that's when you fell in love with him."

"Will you let me finish?" she huffed. She shoved another bite in her mouth.

He held a hand up and sealed his lips shut.

"When he had to start working more, and my family needed more money, we realized the only way we could really be together was if we married. It made sense, and I missed his friendship. Over time we could fall in love. There was an accord, and deep respect."

"But no passion? I still cannot understand why he failed to take you to bed." He shook his head.

"I don't know. I was shy, and nervous. Maybe it put him off? Maybe some men don't like that in a woman." She shrugged and set her fork down.

He stretched his back. It was aching from sleeping on the floor. "Bullshit. The way you . . . Your innocence," he gripped her chin and held her face steady, "it makes me want to fuck you more than anything. It gets me riled up, even more than my blood lust when I'm boxing. I can't describe how it gets inside my veins, pulses through my body and makes me insane with need for you. There is no way your shyness, your nervousness was a deterrent. If anything, it was a motivator. Men like a challenge."

"But not a prude," she mumbled.

He dropped his hand and gripped her thigh. "You like this, don't you?"

"I . . . Yes." She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"A prude does not like it rough. A prude doesn't come to life when a man whispers deviant things in her ear. It wakes up your soul and you come to life when I'm honest with you and show you my desire for you."

"Frigid women are . . . They can . . ."

"No, Isabella, no." He covered her mouth and gave her that reprimanding look. "It wasn't you. It was him. There was something odd about him, and I will discover what it was."

His hand slid off her mouth.

"How? He's been dead for years."

"I have ways." He picked up her fork, and without asking, he fed her bite by bite, making sure she finished all of it.

.

.

.

"Where are my wages, Mr. Bryant? I thought we had an agreement," she said when the week was over, and her pay did not come.

She pointed at the photos he'd said the paper wanted.

"I can't pay you, Miss Swan. Mr. Masen knows, and he's forbid me from doing so." He leaned back in his chair and stared past her and out the window.

"And how, may I ask, did Mr. Masen find out I have been selling you my prints?" She had just found out yesterday after some detective work of her own that Edward had bought this paper, too. Was there anything the man didn't own in this city?

"He finds out everything. There's really no way to hide anything from him, I'm afraid." He sounded a little frustrated as he bit the end of his pinky.

He was an odd sort of man. She studied him to try and find an advantageous angle so she could exploit it and get what she wanted.

"Did he say something to you directly?" she asked, moving toward the window so she could block the view and make him look at her.

"He did."

"Care to tell me what he said?"

"It's my prerogative to keep it private." He leaned forward in his chair, rapped on his desk once with his knuckles, and that's when she saw they looked angry and red.

"Oh no . . . Don't tell me he . . . Did he force you into fisticuffs?"

"No—he would never!"

"I think he would." She crossed her arms over her chest. "And I think he did." She grabbed her photos and shook them in his face. "These are mine. The paper can't have them."

"The _Times_ wants them. They're really good, and he insisted I give them all to him." He swiped at them, but he was too slow.

She moved them out of his grasp. "Oh, he'll have them all right. I'll shove them down his throat, that degrading, insulting, asshole paperman!" She stomped out the door.

When she got down to the street, there was a motorcar she recognized immediately.

"Miss Swan," the driver called out her.

She ignored him and walked down the street.

He chased after her. "Please don't take on so. You know he'll murder me if I don't offer you a ride."

"You have offered it, and I have declined. Problem solved. Go back to your motorcar and wait for that pompous fool, Mr. Masen, to wave you down. I have no need of your transportation."

"He's not here, miss. He's back at the Times. He bade me follow you here and wait for you."

She murmured about controlling men with a complex about independent women.

What else did he want from her?

She'd been staying in his home, though in the servant's quarters, in her own bed for the last few days.

She slammed her heel down and growled in his face, "You leave me be, and I'll let you live. Little men like you," she let her eyes take in his enormous size, "do not get to choose anything. They take orders. And I refuse to be anything like you. I am my own woman!"

She turned and ran.

This time there was no pursuit, but she heard the car veer off in the opposite direction.

She couldn't wait for the subway to be completed. Then she would have other modes of transit.

These boots really were a blight on her toes. As soon as that odious man paid her what was her due, she would buy new shoes.

When she arrived at the Times Tower, she was sweating and out of breath.

She shoved her way through the doors, and was so enraged, she kept quiet, lest she shoot acid from her tongue at an unwitting victim.

Oh, yes, she'd save all her venom for the one man that deserved it.

Her teeth ground together as she opened the door to his office.

"What is this?" She flung her pictures onto his desk.

"I already bought last week's batch. The two of me were especially good." He smirked and reached for her.

She slapped his shoulder. "Don't touch me, you rogue. You owe me my wages."

"No. I don't. I figured I'd take them as means of your room, board, clothing and food. That way, you can't leave. You will stay."

"Oh, so I am to be an indentured servant to you, now? Am I to scrub your chamber pots as well in the servants' quarters? Or maybe I can shovel the snow off the shit I take in your backyard when I start sleeping there again because I cannot abide the site of your smug, fat face!" She leaned in at the end, accentuating every word.

He lunged, and took her by the haunches, setting her on his lap.

"God, I love it when you get like this," he said, nuzzling his nose into her hair. He held her tight and groped her breasts.

"No! I will not allow this! I need my money." She struggled to break free to no avail. He was too strong for her.

Thank God the curtains were drawn on his windows so no one could see the tussle in his office, and her stuck on the boss's lap.

"I cannot do business with a woman," he said.

She kicked her heel back, knocking him in the shin, and that moment was enough to catch him off guard so she could flee.

She ran out the door, covering her tears so none would see.

When she was out of Times Square, she managed to get ahold of some fabric, some paint and another pair of hands to help her.

This was going to be a week of hell, she knew it, but it was time he learned.

She marched straight over to David's house.

He opened the door on the third knock. "I am not at liberty to help you take photographs right now. Go away."

"I'm not here for that," she said. "I can no longer sell my photos anyway. I wanted to ask you something."

"If you make it brief." He glanced over his shoulder back into his house.

Did he have company? She could smell cigarette smoke wafting in his house, and she'd never seen David smoke before.

"Do you have a working relationship with Mr. Masen?"

"No! Lord, I hate that man. He's the shit that I pushed out of my ass that won't flush down."

"Is it safe to say you'd like to torment him if given the chance?" she baited him, smiling.

"I would do anything to show that man he needs to be lowered into the gutter. That's where he belongs. He did things to my daughter I can never forgive."

She tried to fight off a grimace. Was his daughter one of Edward's whores?

"Aurora's a good daughter, but he turned into something I can never . . ." David choked up.

"I am so sorry for your pain."

"I don't care what you feel sorry about," he said, grunting at the end.

"That's fair, but what's not fair is that this man, Edward Masen, owes me wages, and refuses to pay them. He's done this to me before as well, and I for one, will not tolerate this injustice. I need help."

"Help with what?"

"I want to protest. Can you help me rally one?"

He grinned so big, she had no idea he had so many teeth. "You will meet me outside Times Tower tomorrow at the break of dawn, and I'll have a whole brigade there of women to protest and back you up."

"Excellent. Thank you."

"No, the pleasure's completely mine. You can use my camera anytime . . ." He closed the door.

She breathed again.

It was time she took control of this situation and got her wages.

.

.

.

Edward growled at Mr. Bryant through the phone. "If she ever comes there again, you are not to speak to her."

"How am I supposed to avoid it? She's tenacious, and she will barrel her way through," Mr. Bryant argued.

"Yes, and she's a glorious creature when she does." Edward tapped his index finger on his desk. "Here's what I'll do—my brother, Emmett, has been asking for a while to switch over your office. You will still be running the other employees, but he's your superior. Never forget that. If she comes to you, defer to him immediately. I'll know if you don't."

"But this is highly irregular. Why do we need two managers?" There was a shuffling of papers on Mr. Bryant's end.

"Because, you daft man, I am being generous. I'm allowing you to keep your job, even though I know you lust after her. I've been told all about how you look at her, and how you'd bend at the waist to shine her shoes if she'd let you. Undoubtedly to get a peek at her knickers. You sicken me—thinking you can have her. You're a married man, and she is not available."

"So, she's yours, is she?" Bryant pressed.

"No, but she will be." Edward ended the call.

He rubbed his temples. _Telephones_. Jesus! He hated them, but it was easier than driving down there and talking to that rotund bastard that smelled of mustard. That man put mustard on everything.

Repellent.

Edward roamed his office, but those pictures on his desk kept calling out to him.

He walked back over to them, ran his fingers over the two she took of him.

He'd wanted to ask her about it when she arrived, but she was furious with him, and he couldn't keep his hands off her.

God, she was sexy when fuming like that.

He picked them up and studied them.

She fled again. Always running away then acting indifferent afterward when she saw him in the floor office.

Why had she taken these then if she was so uninterested in him?

She refused to be seen anywhere in public with him.

Stubborn, stubborn mite.

He thumbed through the other photos.

She had a good eye, and her ideas on what this city was to her, reflected in what she captured.

Families of hardworking people, on the streets, bustling about to make a living. Smiles they gave away, and burdens they shared.

People being kind to one another, and this was a very optimistic viewpoint from someone who came from the lower east side and had her home burned down.

He sucked in his bottom lip.

Why did she take those pictures of him?

What was her message here?

Did she think him a part of these good people?

A part of the city that made it vibrant and alive—that's what the rest of her pictures said.

He shoved those pictures aside and grabbed the drawings she'd left in his carriage, tucked under the seat.

These . . . Christ, he was breathless.

She captured the quirk in his brow, the way his eyes burned at her when he could no longer bear not touching her.

Her accentuation of certain things like his fists, his chest, and his cock, made him smirk.

She even got every last chest hair.

This woman had an eye for detail, and she missed nothing.

Her talents were astounding, and he wished more than anything that he could take her on as a permanent employee.

He'd make sure she was able to illustrate or share visuals for the top stories.

"You busy, boss?" Emmett asked, popping his head in.

"I'm not the boss where you're concerned. I'm giving you half of each of the papers," Edward said, not bothering to look up.

"What? Why? I don't want that," Emmett said, stepping inside and shutting the door. "What's gotten into you?"

"She has. I need more time with her, and I need you to be able to take more control of this company. Maybe then you can help me find a way . . . Sign her bank notes."

Emmett chuckled. "Oh, that again? I can't do that. Impossible."

"Doesn't matter. I don't want full controlling shares anymore. It was left to both of us. One of the few things we have from our parents. I want you to have more. You'll need it with a baby on the way." Edward set his palms on his desk on either side of the drawings.

"You know I'm not careful with my money or managing a business. I lose my money on bets and have no interest in making more. I can barely keep track of what I have now."

"Your Rose will be happy you're increasing your income," Edward said, still staring at the drawings of him.

"What's that you're looking at?" Emmett wandered over. "Fuck! You're naked!"

"I know," Edward said, his voice low and contemplative. "And I never posed for these. They were made purely from one woman's imagination."

"Isabella? I thought she despised you?" Emmett looked away and he shifted his weight in the opposite direction of the papers.

"Making you uncomfortable? You want to marry a prostitute," Edward teased.

"I told you, she's out of that line of work. She's mine. I don't share her with anyone." Emmett walked toward the door.

"Exactly. She's accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and now that she's not bringing in money, you'll need more. She's used to living like a mistress. They're expensive. Take half. A quarter isn't going to be enough anymore." Edward cocked his head at him. "Don't be stubborn. Your pride shouldn't be a factor here. Be smart about this."

"I _am_ smart. Smarter than you. I know a good woman when I see one, and I know how to treat her right regardless of how much money I make." Emmett exited and closed the door behind him.

**A/N:**

**Won't have anymore blog posts for this story until the final chapter. Until then, I hope you'll keep reading, rec'ing, and reviewing.**

**Many thanks to Anakinsmom. She's been so amazing lately!**

**Chanse**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Isabella was outside the Times, marching in a circle, waving banners and yelling about what a diseased, caustic place this was to work.

Women—mostly women Edward had fucked and had turned away when they had developed feelings for him—were marching around with her.

They demanded fair wages be paid.

He had to laugh at that since he was probably the sole reason any of those whores stayed in business for so many years. He'd been a regular, paid more than they'd asked for, and never harmed any of them.

So ridiculous.

Edward never even entered the building today. He'd been out here for hours, watching his little miss storm around.

He stood, leaning against the brick wall of the Times Tower, smoked, smirked and enjoyed the sight of Isabella snarling and pointing at him when people asked why she was so enraged.

She was gorgeous when she was livid with him—and he couldn't get enough of it.

He should be hung by his testicles for enjoying this, but how could he resist smiling at her and being lit up inside.

"This foul man refuses to pay my wages, and I've worked very hard for him," Isabella said, telling a stranger, passing by.

She showed them samples of her photos and some of her art. The person shook their head, shook a finger at him and walked on by.

Several pedestrians paid her out of their own pocket, taking pity on her.

Isabella would thank them profusely then give Edward a haughty look.

As soon as they passed by, she'd go right back to waving her banner and shouting.

This woman was insatiable when she wanted something.

All he hoped was she would someday soon turn this kind of attention to him and his cock.

When it was lunchtime, most of the women in her protest dissipated.

There was an older man though with gray at his temples that was very attentive to Isabella involved with her little enraged group. He never said a word, and Edward recognized him as the man that had helped her with the camera that day that Edward had pretended there was a gas leak inside the building to get her alone.

Aurora kept watching this man out of the corner of her eye.

There was something going on here, and Edward was uneasy about all of it.

"It's getting warmer, and I'm hungry," Aurora told Isabella. It was clear by her rigid stance and clenched jaw she did not like Isabella at all.

"You may leave whenever you wish," Isabella told her. "I'm not stopping to eat; not until the _Times_ recognizes our demands and they pay me accordingly."

Aurora turned from Isabella and walked right up to Edward.

In a flash, that man she'd been looking at, grabbed her and hauled her away.

Aurora said something to him about how that was not what she was doing, and it was none of his affair anyhow.

Edward was really confused now.

But he turned his gaze on Isabella.

She was with two other ladies, and truthfully, Edward didn't even recognize these women.

Had he ever spoken to them? Were they disgruntled tenants?

Did they not see how many repairs he'd been making as of late on all his tenements?

Isabella's home especially, though he kept slowing the process down, unwilling to give her a reason to leave him sooner.

He found several excuses to have them start over.

One of the women sat down and took off her boots, rubbing her feet.

"I can't do this much longer," the other woman said.

"You don't have to. I can carry on by myself," Isabella said. She paid them both a dollar from the money passersby had given her, she thanked them and they left.

Isabella ignored Edward's presence and continued to march around, shoulder back, head held high and a wicked fire in her eyes.

She knew he was amorous by just looking at him. Those heated looks he gave her . . . The bastard had her squirming inside.

"God, you're sexy when you're all riled up," he said. "I'm hard just looking at you go."

She acted as if he wasn't there, staring out into the street.

Edward's driver and his motorcar were a few feet away.

She walked over to his driver, and offered to pay him a dollar if he'd leave. He was blocking traffic according to her, and she needed as many people as possible to come through here and see what this employer had done.

Edward nodded at him, giving his permission to leave.

When he drove off, Edward could stand it no longer.

He waltzed over to her, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into a little alcove in the side of the building.

She swung her banner at his head.

He removed it from her fingers and chucked it down the street.

"This has gone far enough. It's over now. No one cares about your little tiff with me," he said.

"They do care. Especially the women you've broken over the years," she said, her jaw snapping shut. "They wanted to be treated fairly, just as I do."

He groaned. "_Why_ do you think I break hearts across the city? Who has filled your head with this nonsense? You said that to me once before, right before breaking my nose. Tell me why," he said, gripping her upper arm.

She yanked her arm free and glared. "Roman's sister told me all about you. I know who you are, and yet I was foolish enough to spread my legs for you even though I was fully aware of how you break hearts better than you break bones." Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. "I cannot be with you. I'll not stay another night in your home."

"Isabella . . . No." His face fell and his mouth went dry. "You do not mean that. I have broken no hearts. You know I paid for sex. I did not want to be romantically entangled with anyone. It was the best way for me to . . ." he tried to swallow, but nothing happened; instead, he cleared his throat ". . . get my needs met. You know I'm an animal filled with base desires. No woman wanted to give me that."

"Until me . . ." Tears spilled now. "Say it, Edward. That's what you were thinking, was it not? Until me, no woman was willing to let you tear into them and piss all over their heart. You thought me unbreakable, but you were sorely mistaken. I am more breakable than any woman, perhaps because I never really knew what love meant." She backed away, fists clenched at her sides, jaw flexing.

"What are you saying?" He kept after her.

"Do you think because I can yell in your face, break your nose and sleep out in the wild it means I am little of spirit and heartless?" She slid her teeth over her bottom lip and took a deep breath. "I do those things to survive. I don't want to do them—I have no choice. I do what must be done to get by. If I had my way, yes, I'd have money, but on my own terms. My conscience would always be clear, and I'd help everyone I knew to improve their life. I'd refrain from ever raising my voice or swinging my fists, but that's not the world we live in. I cannot afford to be shy and innocent, though that is who I am deep down inside. I'm not an exhibitionist whore, happy to strut around on your arm half-dressed so everyone knows you plunge your way inside me nightly without a care in the world."

"You are not my whore, and anyone that even entertains that thought will lose a great deal of blood at my hands," he growled.

She held up a palm to stop him. "You may not pay me with your wealth, but you don't have to. Someone pays, and it's me. It's _always_ me. I pay you with my dignity—my self-esteem, and I've just run out. You refusing to give me my wages tells everyone without words that I am your whore to kick around like a dog. That I am beneath your other paid employees." She swiped a few more tears off her cheeks. "I'm sorry, but I cannot stand by and allow you to treat me this way. You've broken me far more this way than you could've with any blunt trauma to my skeleton. I prefer you would've taken me back into a boxing circle and crushed my skull to bits. At least then I would not have to see the looks people gave me afterward."

"No, it's not like that!" he gritted.

"Then how do you see it?" she asked, voice escalating.

"Isabella, I . . ." He dropped his head, took a deep breath and his shoulders sagged forward. "I told you before I was married once. Well, in the divorce, she not only took a large amount of my money from my oil refinery, she took half the business with her because I'd signed her as part owner. In the process of being rid of her after I caught her cheating on me repeatedly, I had my lawyers draft up in each of my other newspaper companies I owned, that I would never do business with a woman again. That I could not hire one, could not pay one, and most definitely could not ever share a business with one. I even made sure Emmett could not sign for me in those types of situations. I'm bound by it. If I pay you and it is discovered that I hired you by any judge, I can be sued by my very own lawyer, and by my family, too."

"This makes no sense," she said, shaking her head and her brow in a deep V.

"I know it doesn't. But at the time, I was so sure I never wanted to be in a relationship again, I wanted this. Any legal authority that catches me with a regularly paid employee that's female can do something about it if they so choose. I could lose my newspaper companies. Now, if you worked for me in one of my tenements, or in my household, they cannot do anything there. I did not include those in the drafts because my ex-wife never cared about those things. They didn't bring in as much business. And I left it out also because I knew I'd need to hire a female cleaning lady and possibly a cook. "

She blinked, gave him a cautious look. "This is why you asked me to work in your household? Not because you think of me as a maid, someone to wash the shit off your shoes, but someone you want to help because you care, and wanted to find a way around your self-caused predicament? Is that what you are trying to say?"

"Yes." He stepped into her and ran his hands up the side of her neck and threaded his fingers into her hair then gripped at the roots, tipping her head back. "I tried to get Emmett to sign your bank notes, hoping no one would notice, but the bank figured out what I was trying to do. They're bound, too. I even tried to give him half the company, giving him more authority, but Emmett doesn't want it."

"This is insanity, Edward. Why did you do all this? She could not have hurt you so badly that you turned against my gender completely," she said.

He kissed her nose then pulled away. People might see how affectionate he was being with her, and though he didn't care what others might think, he cared what she thought, and this might upset her.

"She had me so fooled . . . She was betting against me in my boxing matches, finding ways to distract me while she was in the audience so I'd lose. She was stealing my money, whoring in our bed with other greedy, disgusting men that actually paid her to let them fuck her, and everyone knew except me what a slut she was. And if that wasn't heinous enough . . . she . . . then she . . ." his eyes watered and he kicked the wall next to her, cursing through his teeth ". . . when my parents were both sick with typhus, she . . . She did the unthinkable."

Isabella covered her mouth in horror. "Did she kill them?"

He went silent.

She yanked at his sleeve then grabbed his wrist. "What did she do? Edward, you have to tell me . . ."

"She convinced me they needed this new type of experimental drug. At first it seemed to work. They were getting shots all the time, and they appeared to be recovering, Then one night, out of nowhere, they both expired. They were foaming at the mouth with this blue sludge rolling down their chins. They seized and stopped breathing. I do not know what happened, but she smiled. For one brief moment, I saw it. She wanted them gone."

"But why?" She caressed his forearm.

His tears splashed onto his coat. "She knew I would be so distraught, I'd agree to anything. She handled their home wake, and handled all their business affairs with the exception of the tenements they'd given me and the newspaper companies I was running. She must've figured I would've noticed what she was doing if she'd touched those. She destroyed their other remaining businesses, threw out their tenants and found a way to take absolute control of their money. She disappeared not long after, and I was left cleaning up her mess. She'd created a high-end brothel, and oddly enough, those are the women I fucked after she had gone. It was done to spite her originally, but Hope, she had been my ex-wife's friend."

She stiffened at his side then laid her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Yes, and I will forever be."

She sighed and he could tell she was keening softly on his shoulder for him. For his pain. "Can you tell me your wife's name?"

"Chelsea. I think."

"You don't know?" Her head popped off his shoulder.

He gave a half shrug, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Simply holding it made him feel better.

"How can you not know your own wife's name?" she asked, her brows coming together.

"We think she changed her name when she came here to America. She was an immigrant like so many others we knew. My lawyer, James, said he thinks her name was actually Victoria. The last name's still a mystery."

She looked him straight in the eye. "Listen to me, Mr. Masen—she was a cruel, selfish bitch. I am none of those things. I don't want your businesses, your money or any of your possessions. Hell, for a long time I didn't even want you, but things have changed." She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. It was so unladylike—so opposite of Chelsea that he had to bark a humorless laugh. "But I need to eat. I need to make my way. I understand now why the paper can't pay me for my wages, but if that was the case, then you should have told me that upfront."

"I did!"

"You most certainly did not." She threw her hands in the air. "You told me like a chauvinistic pig that you could not do business with women. Not once did you say it was against your contract or in your company's bylaws. How was I supposed to know it wasn't a personal slight against me; that you weren't trying to play games with my livelihood?"

"How was I supposed to say that with listening ears all around? If I had revealed those facts, do you know how many employees I might've lost? It looked good to have you around—made the company look progressive."

She backed away, her face contorting in anguish. "I cannot believe this. You used me—took advantage of me worse than I could've ever dreamed."

"At first . . . But _now_? You know it's not like that anymore. I need you near me. I cannot stand not knowing where you are, who's looking at you, talking to you, and enjoying your presence." He reached out for her, but she kept backing away. "Please, Isabella . . . You have to believe I am a changed man—different because of you and your blessed influence."

"No." She looked past him, unseeing. Her steps kept moving away.

"No, to _this_. Stop this! You are always running away and it kills me! I want you more than anything! I'll let my damn lawyer sue me for everything simply to keep you!"

"You lie. You lie on this street, you lied in my bed and in yours, all for what? To prove you were a generous employer, to increase your stocks and revenue! You are a sick, vulgar man! And to think I actually fell in love with you!" She covered her mouth with both hands, squeezed her eyes shut and stomped her foot then doubled over.

"You _what_ . . . ?" His arms dropped and the blood drained out of his face. "Say that again, Isabella," he whispered.

She straightened abruptly and yelled, "I detest you and all that you are! I'm going to forget I ever knew you!"

Her legs took off and she sprinted down the road.

He started to make chase, but he could see she would not listen, not when she was in this state, so he followed after her, but far enough behind she couldn't see him. He had to make sure she was safe.

It wasn't until she was knocking on some strange door and his brother answered it with his trollop fiancé, that he came closer.

"Hi, Rose, I need a place to stay tonight," she said.

He moved dangerously close.

"Of course. What did that ratty old bastard do to you now? You know he's almost twice your age, right?" Rose asked.

"Look, you might be my sister—"

Rose shook her head. "Sister-in-law," she corrected.

Edward gasped and raced forward.

He lunged at Isabella, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away. "This woman is Roman's sister?"

"Let go of me!" she screeched, clawing at his hand.

His grip was solid. "Answer me!"

"Get off her!" Rose clawed too, but they were ineffective, even when they scratched and drew blood.

"This streetwalking woman is your sister-in-law?" Edward croaked, his throat constricting.

"Yes, she is! And she's not a streetwalker—she's my wife!" Emmett was present all of the sudden, and he pried Edward's hands off Isabella. He ushered the ladies inside and when he turned to Edward, he glowered so fiercely, Edward immediately went into a crouch, ready to go to fisticuffs if that was what it took.

"I had sexual relations with Rose," Edward confessed.

"I know." Emmett leaned against the wall, looking at the ground. "I've known all along."

"You did?" Edward straightened, dropped his arms to his side.

"Is there a high class prostitute you haven't put your cock into?" Emmett chuckled but it was dark and filled with resentment. "If it makes you feel any better, when you introduced me to her, she told me right away that she never liked you. She only did it for the money. She thought you a lousy lover."

"I've never been a lover to anyone but Isabella because I didn't _love_ any of them. They were a place to put my dick; nothing more."

Emmett nodded. "True, brother, but you forget one thing . . ."

"I do not forget anything. I know what this means. Isabella hates me because Rose has told her the things she's seen me do to herself and her other common trashy friends that I paid to fuck."

"And yet she loves you anyway. Isabella has confessed to Rose recently how she fell for you. It scares her, and what I was trying to tell you and that brick head of yours, is what you're forgetting is there's such a thing as forgiveness."

"It doesn't exist," Edward said, staring into the windows of Emmett's home. A curtain was parted upstairs, and though he couldn't see who was watching, he could feel in his bones it was _her_—his lover—the women he loved and craved more than anything.

"Just because you chose to never forgive your ex-wife, does not mean the rest of us are like that. I forgave you for knowing my wife intimately. It about killed me to let it go and not let it hamper our relationship, but because I love you and you're family, I had to let it go. I forgave Rose for all the indecent men she took into her bed, and even though I see some of those men, even have to interact with them from time to time, I let it go. There is always a little pang in my heart, but it is not worth destroying my soul over her past. She cannot change what is done, and I don't know that I want her to."

"That's where you're the fool, Emmett." Edward rocked back on his heels, stared at that window some more. "I can never forgive Roman for what he did to Isabella."

"And what did he _do_ to her, huh? He cared for her, kept her clothed, fed, housed. Those are the decent things a good man does."

Edward stepped forward and pointed a finger in his chest. "You have no idea how he damaged her. He made her think she was nothing, that she was inferior and not worth having. Because of him, she's afraid of me. She runs every damn chance she gets."

Emmett swept his brother's finger off his chest. "No, she's afraid of you because of _you_. There is no one else to blame. You've pushed her away without even realizing it by offering her money all the time. Anyone that knows her sees her pride, that she does not take charity or handouts, and _you_ made her feel inferior, like she'd never belong in your world. Instead of showing her respect, giving her opportunities to expand her talents, you kept her under your heel. Why would you do that if you want this woman? No woman with half a heart wants to feel like she's nothing, only there to be fucked. Rose fell in love with me because I listened to her, I told her what she meant to me, and I helped her to find her worth. Do you know what she does now to earn her own money?"

"You let your woman earn money?" Edward balked. "No self-respecting man of means would allow that. You have plenty of money to live a life of luxury. She does not need money anymore, and she wants to marry you because of the size of your bank account."

"She hasn't touched any of my money. We eloped; already married. She didn't want a lavish wedding. That was what I wanted, to show her off and boast to everyone around about how lovely and incredible my wife is. She will let me buy her things, but she does not spend my money. She even insisted she pay for her own wedding gown, and I agreed."

"Okay, so tell me—what does she do to earn money?"

"She breeds dogs. She loves them. Thoroughbreds, which is what she calls me. She pampers them and sells them, and she's very good at it. It's difficult at times with her hands being damaged, but she's careful. I help her with it when she wants me to or when she'll allow me. I've freed her. You can do the same for Isabella," he said, smiling now.

"How in God's name do I do that?"

"You know what she enjoys. She loves her art, she's involved with photography now, and she's grand at it. Help her find a way to buy her own camera, but you can't just give her the money or buy it for her. She has to earn it," Emmett said as he went for his doorknob.

"You're leaving without telling me how I can achieve such a goal? That woman's stubborn as hell, and she'll never let me . . ."

"Edward, you really are a dolt. She'd allow you just about anything. She let you into her life, into her bed, and that's an enormous risk for her. She would not have done those things if she did not trust you." Emmett swung the door open. Dogs barked in the background.

Edward tried to peek inside.

"I have faith in you, big brother. I know you'll find a way . . ." Emmett waved and shut the door.

Splendid. Edward was out in the cold, lacking any notion of how to help advance Isabella toward her own Independence.

An independence he already despised. He wanted her to need him—to rely on him for damn near everything.

But why? He should want her independence so he wouldn't wind up being stung repeatedly like he'd been by Chelsea, shouldn't he?

He stared up at that window, backing away so he could maybe get a better view.

A palm settled on the pane above, and he knew it was hers.

"Isabella . . ."

**A/N:**

**No blogpost on this chapter, but I do have a ton of other blog posts to share. Next month I'll be releasing two original works of fiction. I'll be sharing mini-teasers for both over the next 17 days. Here are the summaries to both in case you haven't heard about them yet even though I keep blabbing about them on Twitter and Facebook. Feel free to follow me on either of those and my blog. I'd also appreciate it if you've enjoyed any of my stories if you'd give my author page on facebook a "like." All these addresses are on my profile. Hate trying to put links into a/n. Fan fic always screws them up.**

_**Sleeves**_ **(scifi erotica, planned release day of August 16th. Hint, if you like my broken Edward on my other account, and you liked my dirty talking Slick as Ides Edward, then this one might be something you'd enjoy…)**

Kel isn't at all the animal locked in a cage that he appears to be. Secrets keep him there, hidden from those who hunt him. But what does a man do when he needs physical contact to survive, but can't stand the burning pain that comes with another's touch? He's found a way to get a small fraction of his needs met at the nightclub, Sleeves. What happens when he lets in an unknown woman with a healing hand? Casey can see past the vulgar mouth to the affection-starved man hiding inside. When she does, all hell breaks loose, and the past finds him. Will he be able to avoid the agency, or will they add Casey to their twisted experiments? She entered the cage with him, and now it seems there's no way out.

_**Knots**_ **(contemporary BDSM Dom/sub romance, planned release date of August 31st. Shows the softer side of this type of relationship.)**

Jeanie's life has been turned upside down. She's lost her husband at an early age and with him, her way. An offer from a man she's avoided, a man that was her husbands best friend, may be the only thing that can bring light back into her life. Mark isn't like most men. His dominant nature helps him see a different side of Jeanie: a submissive woman with a deep capacity to love and please a man. But having a relationship with him so soon after her husbands death causes strife with her in-laws; the only family she knows. Can Mark set her free, or will she walk away, missing out on the chance for an all-encompassing love?

**Thanks to my beta, Anakinsmom. I've been working this lady ragged, and in my world, it would be like the Titanic scene in the car when the dude's hand slaps up on the window—only, yeah, that would be Edward's hand on there, and Anakinsmom would be his willing victim. At least I think she'd be willing…**

**Chanse**


	17. Chapter 17

**WARNING: IN CHAPTER 4 ABORTION WAS MENTIONED; IT'S MENTIONED HERE AS WELL. IF YOU WANT TO SKIP THAT PART, AS SOON AS HE TELLS HER AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER, "You can't go," YOU CAN STOP READING THERE AND YOU WON'T MISS ANYTHING TOO VITAL. I FIGURE IT BEARS REPEATING—THERE IS NO ABORTION IN THIS STORY. ONLY THE MENTION OF IT SINCE IT WAS A PREVALENT PROCEDURE DONE BY POOR WOMEN IN THIS TIME PERIOD. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN NORMAL FOR THEM TO DISCUSS THIS ISSUE, JUST LIKE WE HAVE TO DISCUSS VENEREAL DISEASES WHEN TAKING ON A NEW SEXUAL PARTNER.**

**Chapter 17**

"I want to see her," Edward told Emmett, pushing on the door to his house.

"This is not how you get in," Emmett said.

"She has to see me," Edward insisted. "Look, I brought her flowers."

"She doesn't want them." Emmett stepped outside, shut the door behind him. "I know this is difficult for you. You were a mess at the office today. Everyone was terrified to get in your pathway, even me, but this isn't the end. She needs some time away from you."

"I want to hear her say that to me herself." Edward shook and his head throbbed. Why was his brother standing in his way?

"She can't. She's unwell. We've got her in bed with a roaring fire in the room. She's coughing a lot, and she has fever and then chills. We've called for a doctor."

"Good God, she's ill, and you think you can keep me from her?" Edward knocked his brother out of the way, opened the door and flung himself into Emmett's house.

He took the stairs two at a time, and started opening doors, looking for her.

It wasn't until he opened the second to the last door that he found her.

She was asleep, and her lips were blue.

He pulled her hand up into his and kissed it.

Lord, she was like ice.

Just like that night she'd come into his room and had been at the foot of the bed, watching him as she froze.

"She sleeps a lot," Emmett said, coming up behind him. "She needs her rest, and Rose will slaughter you if you try to wake her."

"I don't give a damn what your wife does. If Isabella's sick, I'm not leaving here," Edward said.

"Fine. Take it up with her, but I warn you, she's not averse to breaking noses any more than Isabella is. And by the way, yours looks awful. I can tell the doctor didn't set it right." Emmett chuckled.

Edward touched the bridge. It was still a little swollen but no longer discolored; it was fine. Emmett was being cruel on purpose.

"Go to hell, and take your wife with you. I want to be alone with my little mite." Edward kissed her knuckles and turned his full attention on her. "Sweet, it's me . . . Edward . . . I want you to get well so you can come back to me, okay? I need you to get better." He brushed his cheek along the back of her hand. His eyes stung and his mouth flooded as the tears came. "You can't do this to me! You can't be unwell. I need you to fight, like you always do."

She remained motionless, and she was so limp, she looked dead.

"Where is the doctor?" Edward turned his head toward Emmett, ready to accuse him of not taking care of Isabella's needs, but Emmett was gone.

The door was closed, and there was a chair shoved inside, tipped a little against the wall.

How had he not heard all that?

Edward was kneeling, and he'd stay like that as long as he could, hovering over her side.

"I said I love you, and I do. You love me, too. We can be together. I won't make you feel inferior anymore. I'll make love to you, show you how much you mean to me, and I'll free you. You can do anything you want to make your own money. I believe in you." He kissed her hand repeatedly and caressed away the moisture with his cheek repeatedly. "Please, do what you can to recover. The doctor will be here soon, and I'll make sure you get the best help possible."

Her eyelids fluttered, she moaned like she was in pain and then exhaled so harshly, her chest almost looked like it was caving in.

"Oh no . . . No, no, no, no! You won't do that!"

She stopped breathing.

He pounded on her chest, screaming at her to breathe.

She was lifeless, so he pounded harder.

"Fight! Fight, goddammit! Show me you have fire! Hate me if you have to, but live!" He slapped her face then kissed her mouth so passionately, his breaths were pounding into her.

He squeezed her afterward in a tight hug.

His arms would go lax then he'd squeeze her again. Maybe he could contain her spirit inside her. Maybe if he held on, she would, too.

"Live for me. For _us_ . . . You have to," he cried, wetting her hair.

He set her back on the bed and pounded the flat of his palms on her chest some more. "I know that heart's beating. Breathe! I won't allow you not to!"

"Sfffffaaaaaaah!" she gasped and her body jerked to almost sitting halfway up.

She fell back, and then coughed so hard, phlegm was pooling on her pillow.

He laughed, grabbed a towel nearby and cleaned it away.

Her eyes were glazed and her breathing shallow, but for a moment he swore she saw him. There was a tiny hint of a smile then she faded back into sleep.

Edward crawled up into the bed with her.

He removed his shirt, curled his body around her and shared his warmth.

She would never be cold, not when he was near.

Fire was not enough. She needed his skin, she needed _him_.

The door flung open. The blonde whore stared at him. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?" she hissed.

"Rose, I swear, if you try to stop me, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Leave us."

"But the—"

"Send that doctor in, but you leave. I'm taking care of her now," Edward gritted, molding his body into Isabella's and holding her about the waist. "This is my woman, and I have her now."

"You do not. This is my house, and she wants nothing to do with you," she said, glaring.

"She only said that because I was stupid and hurt her. I never meant to. I will fix everything I ever did to harm this woman. I love her. Now get out!" He kissed the side of Isabella's head and snuggled into her.

"The doctor will help me. He'll see this is unwise," Rose said and then retreated.

A few minutes later, and old graying man with a cane hobbled inside.

"Mr. Masen, I presume?" he greeted.

"Yes, and I am the guardian of this woman, Isabella Swan. You will heal her, or by God I'll . . ." Edward's chest heaved as his breathing went ragged. When would his heart stop aching like this? It felt like Isabella had crushed it with her fist.

"Yes, yes, you threaten me with your money, your influence and power. I don't care about such nonsense. I'm a doctor because I believe in the body's ability to heal, but I also know sometimes we all need a little help."

Edward stared at him, his mouth agape.

"Now, I'll thank you to at least give me a little bit of room to work. I need to examine her so I can find what the matter is."

"She's having trouble breathing," Edward started in on him. He scooted away, but stayed on the edge of the full sized bed. "Her lips were blue, and she's cold. Emmett said she's had fever followed by chill. Could be the flu. What of the Spanish flu? Have you heard of that?"

"Yes, I've heard of it." The doctor took out a stethoscope and placed it on her chest. He listened to several rounds of her breathing. "Has she been coughing?"

"Excessively so."

"Spitting up any mucous?"

"Yes." Edward swiped his face and his eyes were dry, making them burn.

"What did the mucous look like? Color, consistency?" the doctor asked.

"It was kind of greenish and thick," Edward answered.

Isabella started shaking like she was freezing. Edward pulled the blanket back over her.

In the next moment, her breathing went shallow and rapid like a dog panting.

"This is not normal—fix her," Edward said, pointing at her.

"I'm still examining her. Maybe you should leave the room, sir, until my findings are complete," the doctor suggested.

"I will do no such thing. I am here, and I am staying!"

"Then I need you to remain silent." The doctor checked her pulse at her neck, and he grunted then scratched his chin.

"What is it?" Edward whispered.

"Has she vomited?"

"Not that I know of, but I only just arrived a few moments before you did," Edward answered.

"I need you to go ask her sister," the doctor said.

"Sister-in-law," Edward said.

The doctor scowled. "Please, sir. I need to know all the symptoms."

"Fine." Edward got off the bed and went in search.

He found Emmett, talking to Rose at the end of the hallway.

Edward cleared his throat and approached them.

"The doctor wants to know if she's vomited at all." Edward looked to Emmett for answers, not that accursed woman.

"Yes, and she's had loose stools as well. All last night she was up and down, needing help to get to the water closet," Rose supplied.

"I'll let him know," Edward said with a curt nod.

"Edward—we don't want you here, but we realize you need to be with her. We suggest you take her back to your own home. You can care for her better there anyway. You have servants to look after her. I need my servants to look after my wife. She's nauseous as it is, and I don't want her having to deal with Isabella's bile and shit. It's not right. Plus, I don't want Rosie getting sick, not when she's—"

"Enough—you don't have to convince me. I want the same things you do. I'll arrange for my motorcar to be brought to me, and as soon as the doctor's done, I'll take her home with me."

"She won't like it," Rose said, her lips thinned. "When she wakes up, there's gonna be hell to pay, and I want you to defend me. Tell her I opposed this plan, or I'll never help you or her ever again."

"Never worry about your name, good woman. I'll make sure she's always in the mindset that you are there for her, even when that may not be the case." Edward clicked his heels together obnoxiously and bowed.

He went back to the room and told the doctor what he'd found out.

"I see . . . Well, I'll set her on a round of medicine, and it should help make her better, but you need to get some food into her," the doctor said.

"Oh my God! I knew it!" Edward rushed to her side. "She has the Spanish influenza. I've heard how people die of that. You have to save her!"

The doctor smiled. "She has no such thing. It's pneumonia from exposure to the elements. I can tell by looking at her boots and her clothes that she's been in a state lately, and not to mention the pregnancy . . . That is why you must feed her several times a—"

"The _what_?" Edward blinked slowly, and his vision blurred.

"The pregnancy. She's with child, only just, but enough I can tell. Those bumps around her areola are a telltale sign. She'll probably be due around late September. But she must eat."

"But I . . . I always pulled out, and when I did not, I used a sheath. I never really, truly came inside her." Edward gulped and his palms sweat.

"It does not matter. God has a way of making these things happen. Coitus interruptus does not always work. She may not even be aware she's pregnant yet. You might want to wait until she has a better constitution before you tell her." The doctor winked and smacked him on the arm. "Here, give her this after each meal." He set a bottle of medicine in Edward's palm. "And congratulations, Dad. Keep her rested and eating, taking her medicine, and she should be fine."

"What of her employment?" Edward stared at her, unblinking.

She was going to murder him in his sleep when she discovered she was pregnant.

This was his fault. He coaxed her into giving in.

"You would make her work? What for? I can see you're a man of means." The doctor grabbed his bag that Edward had never even seen him set down.

"Not I. It's her. She insists she work."

"She sounds like an old mule, bickering for the sake of riling you up." He laughed. "My wife was just the same, and we enjoyed many years of delicious banter. I hope the same for you, though you will have more gray hairs on your head than you know what to do with."

He left the room, and Edward stood there, speechless, clasping the bottle in his hand.

A child.

Him? A father?

All of the sudden, he lurched forward, fell at her side and worshiped her with kisses. "You're mine now! You won't leave me!"

"Edward . . . Knock, knock," Emmett said, poking his head in. "I called for your driver. He's on his way; he'll be here soon. Do you want me to help you carry her out? We can bundle her in blankets so she won't get cold."

"No. I'll carry her by myself. You can get more blankets for her—that I'll allow, but you don't touch her. Only I can do that." Edward stroked her cheek. It was ice cold.

He kissed her mouth, lingered and choked back a sob.

She would be well again, and then he'd have to tell her.

He already rued the day, for she'd remove his manhood for certain.

And he rather liked fucking her hard, making love to her, and making her suck him dry.

She was very good at all of those. He'd miss it if she put an end to it.

"I love you, no matter what," he whispered.

And he meant it.

.

.

.

Edward was driving her mad.

"I want out of bed," she said, kicking the covers off.

"Eat first, then I'll assess you and see if you're well enough," Edward said, checking her head for fever.

"You know very well I am fine, and I ate an hour ago." She sat up.

He pushed her back down. "Woman, you are not fit to be up and about yet."

"You can't keep coddling me. You need to get back to work. It's been a week."

"A week and a half, but you slept most of those first three days," he told her, chuckling.

"Did you fondle me when I was out?"

He smirked. "I have nothing to remark about anything so crass as all that."

"You did, didn't you? You cad! You touched my breasts." She cupped them. God, they were sore. "Is that why they hurt so much?"

A guilty look crossed his eyes.

"How often were you pinching my nipples?"

"I wasn't rough like that. I only licked them a little," he said. "You liked it. You moaned and it quieted your coughing spams. It was good medicine for you." He grinned and then sucked his lips in.

"You're so naughty they don't even have a place carved out in hell for the likes of you." She chuckled but it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Her chest was heavy and throbbed. "God, I hate this!"

"Well, stop sleeping in the snow and holding protests out in the cold. And you must eat more. Here," he said, shoving some soup at her.

"I'm not hungry."

"You are. Eat." He pointed.

"I. Said. I. Am. Not. Hungry." She pushed it away.

"You'll eat, Isabella, or I'll spoon it down your throat," he said with a menacing look.

"Fine. But when I'm fat and can barely walk, you'll regret it. I know how you like a trim woman. I protested with all your tarts, remember? I saw how thin they were."

He swallowed and his face paled. "You will never be fat; not like that."

"Like what? A fatted whore who gluts herself because she can afford to?" She laughed. "Yes, I supposed I'll never be like that since I'll no longer let you between my legs. It's a wonder you don't have bastard children all over the city. How many women have you fucked?"

"Such language is unbecoming on a lady such as you," he said, breaking her off a chunk of bread and slathering it in butter.

"Stop avoiding that answer. I keep asking, and you keep deflecting. How many?"

"I don't know," he said.

"You don't know, or don't want to tell?" She clucked her tongue. "I can always ask Rose. She'll tell me. Of course she might be off a few dozen or so, but she'll have a general idea." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You'll do no such thing!" he bellowed, his face turning pink.

"Well, then you should tell me so I don't have to stoop to all that." She took the bread from him and bit into it.

Her stomach churned. God, she was queasy and had been for the last two days now.

"Twenty-five," he said. "Give or take. Some of them I was only with a handful of times, and a few only once. If they couldn't satisfy my urges, I did not go back."

"I am not sure what to think." She blinked. "That's one woman for every year I've been alive."

He nodded and went even paler.

"And did you know all their names?"

He choked out a, "No."

"How many of them did you have a name for?"

"Isabella, please. Stop this inquisition. You don't wish to know such things; how could you?"

"I want to know if the man taking care of me, if he trusts me, will open himself up to me. I certainly do not plan to know you ever again in your bed or in any other way if you cannot do me the simplest favor of answering for your past."

"Very well. Here are their names, the ones I can remember: Ruth, Liza, Hope, Betsy, Ada, Aurora, Vivien, Tamara, Sarah, Helene, and . . ."

"And?" She quirked a brow.

"I know you know. Do I have to say it?" He cringed.

"You do if you expect me to stay in this bed," she replied.

"Your very own Rose. She was my least favorite, and I was only with her once. That was enough for me," he said then he dropped to his knees. "Will you forgive me for being such a rogue?"

"I don't care what you did. It matters not at all to me." She ran her fingers through his hair.

"Why? How can you say that? I almost fired Bryant for even looking at you with lust in his eyes, the bastard," he admitted.

"I figured as much." She kept running her fingers through his hair. She loved the waves in it, the way the auburn colors reflected in the natural light until they almost looked like the copper coin in her purse. Those richly hued tresses were hypnotizing. "I love you, Edward. That's why. And as long as those women remain in your past, then I don't care if you touched them."

"At all? How can that be? Are you not jealous ever?"

She bit her lip through a smile then released it. "I am insanely jealous, and I wanted to break Aurora's nose when she walked over to you during my protest, but her dad took her away before I could do anything about it."

"That was her father?"

"Yes."

"Good Lord. I'm lucky he didn't castrate me on the spot. It's obvious he knew I'd been intimate with her."

"Yes, he knew. David's a gruff man, but he's kind. Unless he's near you. He hates you."

Edward leaned into her touch. "Should I care?"

"Not really, but he's going to help me with my career. He's lending me his camera when I have need of it."

"He's not going to help you! He's twice your age," he barked.

"Funny, Rose says the same of you. Care to reveal your age?" She smirked.

"I think it's my turn to ask the questions now. You've had your fair turn." He climbed into the bed.

"Let me guess . . . You're forty-nine."

He made a disgusted face, his nose wrinkling. "How are you feeling?" He rested his head on her thigh.

His hand drifted over her lower abdomen.

"You're thirty-nine," she tried again.

"Woman, you try me."

"I'll let you stay in the bed with me and snuggle this time if you tell me when I'm right."

He made a humming noise and nodded. Several times a day and a few in the night, he'd try to get in bed with her, claiming it was for warmth, but she always pushed him back out.

"Forty?"

He stared at her and said, "Higher."

"You are ancient, sir. I should be sickened I allowed you to mate with me."

"It wasn't mating, Isabella. That's not what we did."

She ran her fingers across his forehead. "Oh, all right—fucking. I swear you just want to hear me curse all the time to see if you can get me to blush."

"I do not. But it wasn't fucking either." He turned his head and nipped at her inner thigh.

Her leg bounced and so did his head.

"Forty-two," she said.

"Yes."

"You're forty-two? And I'm twenty-five. That's a," she counted in her head for a moment, "that's a seventeen year age difference. I was seventeen when Roman died."

"About that . . ."

She muffled his mouth her palm. "I'm tired of your fixation on Roman. He's gone. Leave him in peace."

"Mufffada betupa be," he said behind her hand.

"And a nice nap to you, too." She laid back down, her head hitting the pillow and she sighed. "Today is probably really nice outside. I would have loved to have gone for a walk."

Now that his mouth was uncovered he could speak again, but he didn't.

He remained with his head on her lap.

"Could you at least take me for a drive later today after our nap?" she asked.

"No," was the soft reply she received.

"Why not?"

"You're still recovering, sweet." His fingers drifted up her thighs, breaking her skin into gooseflesh.

"Edward . . . If I'm not well enough for that, then you most certainly should not be touching me in that manner."

"But I . . . God, you smell good, and I haven't touched you or felt you on my tongue in so long." He drifted his hand over to her puss and then stroked it outside her clothes.

Her body arched into his touch and she choked on a quiet moan.

"We can't do that. I'm unwell," she teased.

"You're in my bed, and I want you." He sat up and straddled her. "Don't toy with me, Isabella. Will you ever allow me to make love to you again?"

"Perhaps. I cannot say when though. I have to ponder on what I want, and you might not be in my plans for the future."

He crashed down on top of her, releasing his weight into her. His erection was pushing between her thighs. "Don't say that. I can't recover if you mean it."

"I don't know what I . . . This cannot be rushed. There is much to consider. I plan to leave here soon. I'll be able to take up my photography again and you said yourself my home was halfway done with repairs. I'll need to go back there, and there's Rose to consid—"

"You're pregnant," he said.

"I . . . I'm . . . Why are you . . ."

"You carry my child. The doctor told me when you were unconscious. That is my baby." He rested his palm over her belly. "And I want to know this child every day of its life. I want to know you, too. Stop pushing me away. I love you."

"You . . . You're lying to me again." Her breath trapped in her chest. It hurt—her chest, her heart—all of it.

He was hurting her.

"I fucked you like an animal, and though I pulled out, I implanted life in your womb. You will carry my baby inside you, and bring it to life. We'll take care of this baby together, because I love this child, too." He dragged his body down hers, and pulled up her nighty. He kissed her lower belly over and over.

"God! You're . . . No!" She shoved his head off her. "This cannot be. I am not pregnant!" Her eyes flooded, but she refused to blink out one tear.

"Yes, sweet. I have gotten you with child, and I'm thrilled about it. I hope you are, too." He winced when she threw a pillow at his head.

"You are a horrid excuse for a man! How long you've known this and did not share it?" She flung her legs over the side of the bed. Her legs were unsteady but it did not stop her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, coming to her side.

"I'm getting dressed. I'm leaving this place," she gritted, struggling to get her dress on.

"You can't go."

"Watch me, asshole paperman!"

"Isabella, no. I forbid it."

"_Forbid_?" She shoved him and stalked after him. "I do not want you! You've made my decision for me. If you can't trust me to share something this important, then how can I trust you ever?" She pushed him once more and then went after her boots.

"Do not . . . Don't get rid of my baby," he whimpered, his entire body sagging in defeat. "I'll do anything—just don't make it go away. I beg of you!"

Her face went cold, the blood leaving it, and she remembered telling Rose to be rid of her baby. Now she understood . . . The thought was hideous and nauseated her to think of any woman killing their unborn child.

"Abort a child? I would never," she rounded on him and shoved her finger in his face, "but you'll be lucky if I keep it after it's born. You think it won't kill me to look into your eyes every goddamn day on an innocent child's face, a child neither of us wanted?"

"I want it," he whispered. He wrapped his fingers around hers, still jabbing him in the chest. "I want you, more than ever."

"Prove it!"

He moved over to the bureau and waved her over.

"Come and see what I have secured for you, for our family," he said.

Her eyes went wide the second she saw it.

"How did you . . . ?"

**A/N:**

**More good news. I'll be posting this story every day until it's done, which isn't long since this story's only 21 chapters. Hooray!**

**But, wait! I'm not done. I have more good news for those of you that liked **_**Slick as Ides**_**. I should be finishing writing the published version next week. If you want an ARC please contact me and I'll put you on the list. If you want an ARC for my other two stories I'll be publishing next month, **_**Knots**_ **or **_**Sleeves**_**, as well, same deal. ****Email me** **and tell me what format you want it in: pdf, epub, mobi, etc… All I ask in return is for you to post an honest review on Goodreads (I already have both books on there, sans covers) and then once they're published next month, a review to be put up on Amazon. That's it, my wonderful people. Free pervy reading fun for all who want it. ;D**

**If you can't remember what the two stories are about, I've put the summaries up on my profile along with my email, or you can check out my blog. I've been posting stuff about them there.**

**Thanks so much to Anakinsmom. Since I can't send her a chocolate covered Edward with flogger in tow, I'll send her airmail kisses instead full of future promises of maybe at least chocolate…**

**Chanse**


	18. Chapter 18

**WARNING: SOME BLOOD PLAY IN THIS CHAPTER**

**Chapter 18**

"I cannot take this, Edward," she said, her eyes misted.

"I bought it when it was falling apart. No one wanted it, and it only cost me a month of what your wages would've been if I'd been able to hire you. I believe that's what you were protesting for, correct?"

"But I . . . You shouldn't have." She went speechless for a moment and swallowed hard.

"You earned it. I won't be involved, and you can print whatever you like about the town, about what you see, about . . . _me_."

"Don't flatter yourself, paperman." She gazed at the deed and took it in her hand. "_The New York Glimpse_," she read.

"You can change the name to whatever you like. The printing press is old, but functional, and it's right by the subway, which should be complete in another year or two. Until then, I'm hoping you'll allow me the pleasure of driving you to work—you know, in your condition, it'll be better for you, and the . . ." he got choked up ". . . and my sweet little baby. Please, I want you to have it. Say yes."

"If I do this, it means I don't need you," she said, tracing her fingers over her name on the deed.

"I know."

"That's a risk for you. You want to have all of me, don't you?" She quirked a brow.

He nodded. "I want every last drop of your blood, little miss, but I'll take whatever you'll allow."

"I'll give you this one concession. If it goes well, and you don't start wielding your influence, then I'll do it."

"I have one other thing I'd like to show you, if you'd allow me," he said, his face heating.

"You're flushed, Edward. What. Did. You. Do?"

"Don't be mad. It was meant well for you," he said.

"Tell me now before I refuse the newspaper company you bought me," she said, her teeth locking together.

"You have a gift, sweet, and I recognize it. I love your art and your photographs, but the ones you drew of me, I simply could not ignore. I sent them in to an erotica magazine. I called in a favor from an old . . . whore I used to . . . fuck." His voice shook. "She loved it. They wanted to buy your drawings off me, but I told them no. It was only a sample."

"I won't publish with them! Why would you even think—"

"Not that magazine. She owns two respectable ones, and I already secured you an advance if you want it. I thought you might like the idea of doing business with a woman, instead of a man, and it'll get you started on the newspaper company. You'll need money to buy a camera, to fix the place up. What I did, I did because I wanted to secure your future—your independence. I did it because I admire your talent, and I want you to be able to shine. You deserve to."

She flung her arms around him, kissed him hard and cried out, "I'll take both, Edward."

"Are you certain? I don't want you to blame me later and decide it was a mistake." He held her at arm's length, his fingers curling around her biceps.

"Yes. I love what you've done for me. Thank you—a thousand times, thank you."

He kissed her then and he didn't stop until she was drooping in his arms.

She allowed him to undress her back down to her slip, place her in bed and he kissed her on the forehead then lay down next to her.

"Rest, love. Gain your strength. Tomorrow I'll drive you to your new newspaper headquarters. You can see for yourself what needs to be done to make it your own."

"I love you, Edward. And I'm sorry for the cruel things I said. I was so hurt . . ."

"I know, sweet. It's all right. I forgive you." His heart squeezed hard at those words. He swallowed and his eyes clamped shut. "I've never forgiven anyone before," he whispered, his voice going hoarse, "but you . . . I could forgive you anything as long as I know you're safe and my baby is, too. If you ever put yourself or my child in jeopardy . . . I don't know what I'd do."

"I would never . . ." She ran her fingers over his jaw and he turned his head into her palm and kissed it. His damn cock stiffened from such small actions of affection from her. "Will you . . . God, please tell me that someday you'll let me touch you again, even if it's just a little. I hurt. I ache all over for more of your touch, and to be able to touch you back. You don't know what it does to me."

"I do know, because I feel it, too. When I look at you, it's like staring at a God. You're so beautiful, and I know I'm not nearly as stunning as any of the twenty-five women you've been with, but I—"

"Shut. Your. Mouth," he growled, covering her lips with his finger. "You are the most sensual, most mesmerizing creature I've ever laid eyes on. I don't even think about any other woman but you. They don't take up even a tiny portion of my brain or body. But you? You're in my pores, in my blood, in my breath. I want you all the time, and even when you were ill, barely conscious, I still had to touch your skin to feel okay. That's how beautiful you are."

She smiled. The damn minx smiled past his finger.

"Is this amusing to you?"

She shook her head.

He released her lips.

"What you're saying is preposterous. I'm not pretty at all," she said.

He shoved his hard cock into the side of her thigh. "My body says otherwise, and it doesn't lie, even if you think _I _do."

"That sounds like a challenge," she said.

"It is."

Her brow picked up and lifted high. "What would you bet that I can prove I am not beautiful?"

"Nothing. You can never prove such a thing. I don't waste my money on useless challenges."

"It would be very worth your time and money," she said.

"I'm intrigued, little miss. What do you have in mind?"

"You'll see," she said, pulling her slip off.

"I like this wager already. You'll lose, sweet."

"I will not." She tugged at his shirt. "Off."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get a piece of paper and pencil for me."

He left the room, sans shirt, and came back with a stack of papers and two pencils.

"Lay down, naked," she said.

He smirked.

"If you think this is anything but an incentive for me to fuck you, then you're—"

"I won't be touching you. You'll be touching yourself," she said.

"I see . . ." He laid on the edge of the bed, his cock stiff and jutting toward her. "Should I turn on my back so you can fully capture the girth and length?" He stroked his shaft.

"Not necessary. I know exactly your measurements." She puffed out her cheeks and put her fist below her mouth. She adjusted how far away it was from her mouth a few times then nodded when she thought she had it right. "I can get you this deep, so you're this long." She held out her parted hands. "I can make it look a little more proportional on the paper."

"You're downsizing me to make it proportional? The hell you will!" He jumped off the bed.

"I was only teasing, relax." She exhaled with a laughing sigh. "If anything, I'm usually all too generous with you, exaggerating your size, to reflect what it feels like in my puss. It feels enormous, and so full."

"Say that again," he purred, his eyes going heavy.

"My puss is filled to capacity when you're inside it," she said, turning to him, her lips twisted up on the left side. Her eyes darkened. "And I always hope you'll go hard, go deep, and never hold back."

"Fuck, you're making me drip on the linens," he said. His pre-ejaculate was moistening his hand and the bed.

"Good. It'll look great on paper." She winked and turned to the small table in the room. She sat down in the chair, still naked and looked at him every few seconds as she sketched him.

"I've drawn dozens of pictures of you in the nude; it's nice to finally have my subject before me," she said, pencil scratching.

"I'm glad to oblige. If you hadn't thought it untoward, I would've volunteered for this job a long time ago." He chuckled low in his chest.

Christ, her tits looked amazing from the side like that. They were ripening, and her areolas had darkened to a dusky pink. They looked so suckable, so bitable and tasty. The little nodules around the nipple looked sexy as anything he'd ever seen.

"I want to fuck you so hard right now," he told her.

"I'm sure you do."

"Are you naked like this so you can torture me and keep me hard?"

"No. There's a method to my bet."

"One I still assert you'll lose."

"If you recall," she stared at him and then went back to sketching, "the last time you made a bet with me, I won."

"You cheated. And I think you cheat once more, minx."

"I do no such thing. I find loopholes, and I exploit them, but that's not what I'm doing this time." She looked at her foot and went back to drawing.

"I'm almost done," she told him.

"Good. Then I can shove my cock inside you," he said, squeezing at the base of it, making the tip bulbous.

"Lovely. I like it when it turns purplish. Too bad I don't have my chalks. The color would look fabulous." She gazed at the tip of his shaft and then her tongue poked out of the side of her mouth when she went back to drawing.

"Are you drawing my cock right now?"

"Shall I tell you what I draw, or should I let your deviant mind wander into unbidden places all on its own?"

"You decide. I only know I'm dying to have you. What will it take, hmm? I'll give you the _Times_ if I can make love to you in this very moment." His voice went up in pitch, sounded needy and whinier than any woman that had ever begged to be his.

"I don't want that repugnant paper you run. It's tripe. I recently acquired my own little business, and I plan to run yours out of business. I'll sell the truth, and imagery that will stun the masses."

"God, I love it when you talk like that. So sexy." He went back to stroking. "What else do you plan to do to ruin me?"

"You ruin yourself all on your own by filtering what gets through. The people want the truth; they don't want snippets or twisted versions of it. You'll see right now what I refer to." She put her pencil down and approached him with two papers.

She asked him to sit up and then took a seat on the opposite side of the mattress.

"Take a look, and compare. This is true beauty, right here." She ran her fingertip in a reverent way over the depiction of his face she'd created. "It's art at its finest because it's you—an Adonis."

His heart swelled and pushed against his rib cage. Once more, she'd made a stunning rendition of him.

"And this is me. Contrast the two. See the scars here," she said, pointing at her ribs. "I was attacked once and mugged. They hit me with a beam, and it tore into my clothes and scraped across my skin. It got infected and scarred."

He remembered kissing that scar, but it never mattered much to him.

"This is my big nose, and my overly large breasts. These are my hips that are bigger than most."

"I like a full-figured curvy woman."

"No one likes that. I don't wear a corset because I lack the funds to do so, which means I look dumpy. Women in this town wear one, and it automatically makes them trimmer. They have tiny waistlines—I do not." She pointed at something else. "These are my big feet. I wear a size that most women don't. I have to buy my shoes special, so most of the time I buy a smaller size so I can afford it and I shove my feet into the shoes. My toes get cramped up, and they get blisters. This is not beautiful." She turned to him with a sad expression. "I am homely, Edward. And nothing you say or do will change that."

He traced the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. "This is not the truth. Let me show what you missed."

He pointed at the picture of him. "This is my crooked nose, broken by you."

She smiled and blushed a little. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not." He pointed again. "This is my unruly hair—a god-awful shade of red that most people cringe at. Even hats protest being worn because my hair sticks up all over the place."

She laughed.

"This is my knee I've busted before, and it turns inward, making me walk a little funny, but I'm able to compensate by twisting it out a little when I'm boxing. It makes it hard to carry you sometimes, but I don't care. I do it anyway. And this is my chest that harbors a black heart."

"It does not." She ran her hand over his arm.

He ignored her statement since she was wrong, and he knew she'd never admit it.

"This is you—" he pointed at her picture "—with long, beautiful hair I love to bunch in my fists. It soothes any aches my knuckles have because it's so silky and soft and makes me forget my pains."

"It does?"

He nodded and grinned. "And these are the most heavenly breasts ever. I want to lick them, even now while you sit there, I salivate, knowing they're bared." He scooted closer to her. "These hips, they're flared to perfection and that waist has the right dip for me to grab onto without worrying about breaking you. I can thrust and get to the root of my shaft inside you because you open so fully to me. And this . . ." he tapped his finger on her throat ". . . makes the most glorious sounds ever. Those moans. God, I die to hear them again." He leaned over and kissed her toes one by one. "I don't care that you've walked hundreds of miles all over this city in cramped shoes. I want you barefoot with a swollen belly in my house at all times."

He looked up at her, readying for the expectant smack, but she gave him a look of gratitude. And was that adoration that shone in her eyes?

"I didn't even mention your luminous eyes, sweet. Even in the dark, they call to me. They give me this look of absolute starvation, and I'm so deep in a trance for you, all I can do is follow. There is nothing but beauty here." He reached out and grazed a fingertip across the scar on her ribs.

"So, who wins the bet?"

"We both do. And now you get fucked by me."

"Now you make love to me," she said, blinking. "No more fucking. It can be hard, it can be savage, but always with passion and feeling."

"Always. And always with you."

He swept the papers off the bed and laid her out flat.

His tongue licked from nipple to puss, and he did not stop until she came so hard, the covers were moist with her juices.

.

.

.

Isabella squealed in delight when Edward handed her the keys for her new tiny office.

It was dusty, it was dank and smelled of old cheese, almost making her gag, but it was hers.

"I love it!"

He adjusted himself. God, what was wrong with him.

She finally let him back between her legs, and instead of being calmed by it, his craving was magnified. How wet she was, and how tight . . . His breathing was ragged merely from recalling the way she felt around him, the way she sounded.

"I loved the drive over here with you, and now this is even better." Her face lit up.

Why had he let her out of bed? This was torture when her skin glowed and she was smiling like that.

Fuck—needed her now.

"It smells like hell, and that beam's not sturdy. You aren't going to do business in here until it's fixed," he said, narrowing his eyes at another column that looked just as rickety.

"I can't afford to fix the big things right away," she said. She ran a finger over the dusty, dilapidated desk. "I'll get to those eventually."

"Like hell you will."

"Edward," she turned those dark eyes on him, "when was the last time you spilled blood?"

"The night your house burned down. It's been weeks," he said, barely able to talk with how stiff his jaw was.

"And whose blood did you spill?"

"Stanford, that snake that tried to rape you and then burned your place to ash." He stretched his neck.

"Look at your hands, sweetheart, and tell me you don't need to fight. You're aching for it. You can barely stand still, and your knuckles are blanched whiter than these walls." She walked over to him and ran her fingers over his ears. "Box. You need to."

"No. It's dangerous, and I don't want you to worry about me." He shivered at her touch.

"I don't have to worry because according to you, there's no chance you'll lose. It never happens." She smirked.

"Right," he teased then sighed as he went antsier. Fuck or hit. He needed one of them, and he needed it right this instant.. "Can we leave now?"

"I want to look around more," she said, and as she exited the office, the bottom of her skirt caught on a protruding nail from the door jamb.

She leaned over, her breasts almost toppling out, but that wasn't what had him harder than he ever thought possible.

When she stood up, her finger was covered in blood.

"Oh, God." He had to turn away, shut his eyes and fight off a sensual moan. "Fuck, please no. Not that."

Her blood. He could smell it. The taste of it lingered in the air.

"Get that thing away from me," he hissed.

"What—my finger?" She moved around him and put it in his face.

He groaned and his balls tightened up so much, they throbbed.

"Isabella, if you want to walk out of here presentable, and avoid being fucked in this grimy, shitty mess of a hole, then get that thing out of my face." He took her by the wrist, shoved her hand down and then he walked several feet away.

"It stings, but it's fine. Don't worry about me," she said, and then Christ in Heaven, he could hear her sucking on it.

He dropped his head, adjusted himself more than once and cursed under his breath.

". . . tomorrow, and that's the way I see it. Don't you agree?" her voice said, faded and floating somewhere in the back of his head.

He saw red. Everywhere he looked—blood. Juicy, tasty, blood. Dripping and succulent.

Pouring over his sack, and down his leg.

"Edward!" She yanked him around.

He saw the blood on his sleeve from her finger, and he snarled.

His teeth were bared, and he shoved that finger in his mouth. Oh Jesus, the taste of it—of her.

He remembered when he'd sliced through her maidenhead, and licked that up.

This tasted better because he was at the source—and it was fresh and flowing.

His other hand pawed at her skirt. That damned infernal fabric was in his way.

He shoved her up against the wall, turned her around and bent her over a little at the waist.

His hand shook as he finally was able to hike her skirt up, and he stroked her puss, making her wet.

He could still taste her blood on his lips, on his tongue even though he'd released her finger.

"Fuck! How could you show me that?" He pumped his fingers inside of her as he manhandled his shaft until the head was turning red and flaring at the tip.

"You need to box," she reiterated.

"Quiet! I need this—need _you_." He panted, his legs buckled a little, and then he was dying as he squirted himself all over her bottom.

She came quietly a few strokes of her puss later, and then he gripped her hip, holding her away from him.

"Don't show me your blood again. You put me into a frenzy," he said, voice hoarse and throat scratchy from all this dust.

"I'll start wearing knickers again if you'd like," she said, her voice teasing.

"No! Knickers are not a good thing—not when I can lift your skirt and possess you at a moment's notice."

"You could have fucked me, you know," she said.

He hissed when she leaned back and her slickened ass cheek bumped his swollen, tingling tip.

"The baby . . . I don't know how much is too much and harmful," he said.

"I'll see a doctor soon, and then we can figure out all of those details," she said. She turned around, pushed her dress back down to her ankles and smiled with a sweetness that made his chest ache for her. For more of her flesh . . .

"I love you, and you only need to ask if you want a little taste of my blood," she offered.

"That's sick, Isabella. Even I know that. I won't ever ask you for that. Just because I want it, doesn't mean it's allowable." He kissed her with firmness and gave her a look that meant this discussion was closed.

"Is your finger okay?"

"It's dandy." She shook it in his face, and fortunately, it was no longer dripping, so he was safe for now.

Or rather . . . she was.

His gut tightened as images seized his mind of him reopening that little wound tonight while he had his dick inside of her then coating his tongue with her rich flavor.

Dear God, he was twitching a little already at the thought.

He shook it off and tried to hurry her tour so they could get home.

**A/N:**

**My new obsession is kicking my butt this morning. Read the most amazing book last night and can barely focus on anything else. If you liked **_**Emancipation Proclamation**_ **(**_**Sempre**_—**the published version) then you might like **_**Tender Mercies**_ **by Kitty Thomas (she's a submissive in real life, btw, which I adore about her). Asher Collins is the ultimate man in my eyes. Loved every freaking word of this story. Flawless writing, beautiful story telling and such deep characters I've never smiled and cried so hard while reading such an intense story. Kicked me on my ass—good thing I was laying in bed while reading! I inhaled it in less than 24 hours, it was that wonderful.**

**I did have enough brain left over this morning to post this update though. I do have some priorities. Hee hee!**

**Until I get my brain back, I'd like to present Anakinsmom with a gift certificate to one free lap dance from Edward. You didn't know he did that, did you? Well, in my head he does all sorts of unnameable things… ;D She's a fabulous beta, and deserves a lot of lovin' from that man as a reward for helping me out!**

**Chanse**


	19. Chapter 19

**WARNING: SOME BLOOD PLAY IN THIS CHAPTER**

**Chapter 19**

Isabella was asleep when he left.

He wandered into the market and perused the day's wares.

The apples looked sad, and so did the pears, but the oranges were bright and healthy looking.

"I'll take six," Edward said.

"Did you bring a basket, sir?" the old woman asked.

"Basket?" He scratched at the stubble on his jaw. He needed a shave.

"Yes, you need something to carry it in," the woman replied, chuckling.

"No, I . . . Well, I didn't . . ."

She gave him a knowing look. "Wife usually does the marketing for you? Or a servant?"

"I uh . . ."

"You can buy a basket from me," she said, holding one up.

"How much?"

"Does the cost really matter?"

"No, I suppose not." He took it and the six oranges. "She's pregnant, and I need to feed her well."

"Oh, congratulations!" The woman clapped. "There are a lot of savory meats and hearty breads over that way."

Edward paid her, thanked her and grumbled under his breath about his cook and housekeeper being ill today and not attending to Isabella's needs.

"Potatoes! Get your potatoes here!" a man called out.

Edward stiffened and stopped walking.

He recalled watching Isabella a few weeks ago, bartering for the two measly potatoes. It had been tempting to intervene and buy them for her, but he knew if he'd paid, she would've thrown them in his face.

Edward wandered over to the peddler and bought a whole handful of potatoes.

Next, he bought some eggs, some milk, and when he tried to buy some fresh beef, the woman insisted he buy a new basket for that. She said it would spoil his fruit.

He balked at that, but she was more stubborn than his little miss at home.

So, he bought another damned basket and wondered at how these people weren't filthy rich with the way they haggled and gouged him out of his money with such ease.

When the baskets were heavy and both half full, he returned to his carriage and handed an orange to his driver.

The man smiled and said, "You know, your Miss Swan attacked me once. She asked to borrow two dollars, but I wouldn't give it to her."

"Why not?"

"She was beating me with my crop for one thing, and I knew you'd be displeased. I thought you hated the woman."

Edward rapped on the side of the carriage. "I thought I did, too, but there's no escaping her charms, especially when she's wielding a weapon."

The driver laughed and Edward hopped into the carriage.

He kept tight hold of his groceries and when the carriage halted abruptly a few of the oranges popped out.

A motorcar horn honked at them.

"Stupid drivers," Edward mumbled then scrambled after the stray fruit.

He secured them before the carriage moved again, and this time it eased to a stop in front of his home.

Edward thanked his driver, strolled inside and set the baskets on the kitchen workspace.

"Sir, I can handle this," one of his servants said.

Edward smiled. "Thank you, my good fellow."

He sauntered back to his bedroom, but Isabella was not where he'd left her less than an hour ago.

His eyes shifted around the room, and her clothes she usually draped over the chair in the corner were missing.

He raced around, looking for her shoes, her brush, anything at all that was hers.

All gone.

He ran back to the kitchen.

"Where did she go?" Edward's voice rose in pitch and he could feel the vein in his neck throbbing.

"She did not say, but she was really happy—whistling and the like," his servant answered, still putting the produce away.

Edward slammed a cabinet shut in the kitchen.

"No note?"

"None, sir. She did borrow the motorcar though since you were out with the carriage."

"I was buying groceries for her!" Edward snapped. "I took the fucking carriage because it was quieter and I did not want the motor to wake her! Dammit!"

The servant stood there tall and stoic.

"I will find her!" Edward hollered and he went back to locate his driver.

Once he was in his carriage, they went to every spot he could think of, but she was missing.

He was tired, his jaw ached from clenching it so tight, and the horses needed a rest.

After going back home, he took his motorcar out and set a course for the lower east side.

If he found her there, he'd have to consider spanking her ass red.

Edward parked in front of his tenement—her house that she rented.

He knocked, and as all other times in the past, Tommy answered.

"I told her you'd be coming here to get her. Her house looks real good, but she's not—"

"She's here?" Edward bit the tip of his tongue, he said it with so much force.

"Yeah. She's looking around, but she seems really happy to be home, so I helped her bring her things in," Tommy said.

"I need to see her," Edward said, trying to push past him.

"Mister, if that's your motorcar, you shouldn't leave it there unattended. It's gonna be stolen faster than yous can blink."

"You can watch it for me. I'll pay you four dollars," Edward said, jerking his head in the direction of his car.

The boy's face lit up. "Yes, sir, I will."

Edward didn't bother to knock. He had a key, and he brought it along.

He opened her door, went inside and closed it. When he turned around, there she stood with a towel wrapped around her torso. She screamed and jumped when she realized there was someone in her house.

"I couldn't stay away. You knew I wouldn't." He pulled his tie off, hung it over the back of a nearby chair and glared at her.

"I don't have much. Barely have a bed, but I'm staying. This is my home," she said.

"Your home's with me," he replied. His heart twisted around at her words.

"Someday that may be true. I'm feeling better now, I've got a place to work—now I need a place to call my own."

"If I proposed, would you stop this and come home?"

"Good Lord, no!" she yelped. "Why would you even think that?"

"Because this is nonsense. You can't be here. It's not safe."

"You improved all the structure. It's sound." She rapped on the wall. There was a solid clunking sound.

"I'm not talking about the fucking beams holding this place up!" His face heated. "I'm talking about the vermin—the grotesque men around here that will hurt you!"

"They will not." She chuckled. "They're all decent hardworking people, and these are the people I intend to employ at my paper."

"Where were you today? I searched until I was going absolutely mad." He stalked toward her. He pulled the towel off her and dropped it on the floor.

"I went to find a doctor, and while I was out, I realized you need to box. You need to work. You've stopped your life all for me, and I don't want that, nor do I need it." She set her hands on her hips, and her breasts moved from the action.

"I'll go back to the paper when I'm ready. For now, Emmett's overseeing everything."

"But he doesn't want to. He has a pregnant wife to look after," she argued.

"And I do, too, or would if you'd allow me." He pulled his pinky ring off and slipped it on her finger. "Be my wife."

"No." She took it off and handed it back to him.

"Stubborn mite," he said.

"Asshole paperman—losing his sanity because he's denying who he is." She picked up his hands and put them in front of his face. "These knuckles are healed, and they shake all the time. You're dying for blood. Take it. I want you to."

"Why would you tempt me like this?"

"Because I love you and want you happy."

He slapped his hand into the wall behind her, right by her head, and the wall shook. A little dust floated down from the ceiling.

"I'm unhappy, very unhappy without you. Come back."

"Not yet." She ducked under his arm and roamed back to her bedroom.

She opened her bag and pulled a slip over her head.

"I'm going to bed. I'm tired; it's been a long day," she said.

He stood in the doorway and watched her.

"You may leave now. I will see you again soon . . ." She yawned and got in bed.

"Will you really? It seems to me you're avoiding me—pushing me out of your life. You'll be big and pregnant in a few months, and how will you fend off a group of men that might decide they want to rape you?"

"There is no one like that around here," she said, waving her hand in the air like he was being silly.

"Stanford lives down the fucking street!" he yelled. "Have you forgotten all he did to you?"

"No." She sighed. "I know what I'm doing. He's not a concern."

"Fuck!" He gripped the back of his neck. His head was pounding.

His eyes moved over her, and that was it.

He stripped out of his clothes and she gawked as he climbed into bed with her.

The frame groaned under his weight.

"What are you doing?"

"If you're staying here, so am I," he said.

He pulled her into his chest.

"Stubborn." She rubbed her behind into his hip.

"Don't blame me when we wake your neighbors from this bed crashing to the floor when I fuck you."

"Make love," she corrected him.

"Not when we're here in this place it's not. There's nothing loving about how you're endangering yourself and my child. I warned you I would not be responsible what I'd do if you ever—"

"I know. I remember," she said. She rested her arm over his that was placed around her waist.

He rested his chin on her shoulder and kissed her ear. "I love you. I missed you like mad today. I panicked when you were gone. I even went to the market and bought food for you. That's where I was when you left me."

She chuckled. The bed shook. "_You_. Market?"

"It was brutal." He tapped her hand so she'd move it.

Without a word, she placed his hand on her breast.

"Good girl."

"I suppose I owe you after scaring you today. After all, you are old, and your heart can't take so much excitement." She laughed.

He slapped her breast.

"Sssfffffuuuuh," she sucked in a tight gasp.

"Oh, I . . . Sorry, sweet. I wasn't thinking about how tender they are." He flipped her onto her back and loomed over her.

"Kiss it, and all is forgiven." She smirked.

"Can I lick it, then all will be better with me?" He cupped her breast lightly.

"I'm surprised you even stopped to ask."

He let go of her tit, pulled her slip up and ran his errant tongue over all the little bumps around her pink areolas.

"You taste so good." He smacked his lips and then tickled the tip of her nipple with his tongue.

"What do I taste like?"

"Like my next meal." He parted her legs with his. "If it hurts, tell me, because tonight I'm going to fuck you hard."

"If you break my bed, I do want you to repair it. That's one time I'll take your money." She grinned.

"I'll buy you a new one—a bigger one so I can fit in it. This is too small."

"It means we have to cuddle. See how brilliant I am?"

"Little miss, you know I'll be on you regardless of the size of the bed. I prefer my feet be on the bed, rather than dangling off the edge of it." He wiggled his toes.

"Are we done conversing? My puss waits for some attention."

"Is that so?" His right brow popped up and the right corner of his mouth as well.

"You can't suck my bloody finger, put _your_ fingers inside me and expect me to be anything but amorous until the next time we're intimate. Even you are not that cruel."

"I like the sound of this." He barely held himself at bay last night when she fell asleep directly after dinner. They didn't get to be intimate again. He'd hoped for that this morning after they had breakfast, but she'd ruined that plan by leaving.

"And you wonder why I need to live alone?" She smacked his chest.

"You will never live alone again. Not a possibility. I need you too much." He dropped his chest down, sucked on her nipple and when his whiskers passed over any portion of her skin, she moaned and arched off the bed, pulling him closer.

He did it until her skin was red in so many places she looked like she'd been attacked by sandpaper. His tongue laved over those scratches. No blood, but there was still a little tang to it.

It was enough. He could control himself and keep from hurting her, all to get another taste of her blood.

"You want a taste, don't you?" she said, holding out her finger.

"I don't. I don't have to," he said, closing his eyes and stretching his neck back to keep a distance.

She dragged her fingertip over his neck.

He could feel the scratchiness of the scab.

"You can. You want to. There's no reason to deny yourself," she said, then licked across his Adam's apple.

"Goddammit, woman! I don't want to harm you," he growled.

When he couldn't take it anymore, he shoved his way inside, gripped her upper arms to keep her still and fucked until he couldn't breathe anymore.

That damned finger was taunting him, even while out of his face.

He wanted to smell it, to lick it and pretend it was oozing her blood all for him.

"I want you happy," she whimpered as nibbled at her jugular.

His tongue flattened and dragged across the pulse.

"You need it. Admit you do," she said so breathy and scratchy, it made him whine and scrape his teeth down her neck.

He inhaled deeply, to catch the faint possible scent of blood.

"Bite me. Make me bleed," she said, her voice throaty and so sexy it almost made him come.

"Stop it," he whimpered. "Just . . . Don't . . . Move . . ."

"Bite. Tear it so you can get a drop. Only a taste," she pleaded, tipping her head back.

"No! I . . . God, please don't offer," he moaned, thrusting erratically and as hard as he could.

He was a train, crashing down the track. He was the cock, burning her down into a creature of ash and darkness, like him.

His head shook from side to side. No, she was innocent and lovely.

Not like him.

"I want to bleed for you!" she said. Her arms struggled and she tried to break free.

He stared at the throbbing vein in her neck until he couldn't take it anymore.

Instead of harming her, he bit his own tongue, sucked on it and his cock swelled inside her.

"Let me taste," she whimpered.

How did she know what he'd done?

He panted and his mouth watered.

"I can smell it . . ." Her eyes darkened, and she opened her mouth.

His tongue plunged inside, and immediately she sucked hard, ravaging his mouth.

"Hmmmmuuupphhh," he whimpered with a dying moan.

But she was louder.

Christ, she was so loud he knew the neighbors could hear her and the bed now shaking as he fucked her harder than ever.

He released her arms. She gripped his hair and yanked him closer, forcing his tongue deeper.

His hands wrapped around her waist and she let go of the kiss.

He dragged his tongue across her lip, and when he saw how he'd painted it red with his own blood, he gritted, "Isabella—Jesus, fucking Christ—I bleed for you. Lick it."

The moment her tongue swept across it, her eyes rolled back in her head as if in ecstasy, his balls tingled, tightened and he came so hard his head went fuzzy.

"Ohhhhhh . . . I'm, Edward . . . I want to," she rasped.

Somehow he had the presence of mind to pull out real fast, pinch her clit hard then flick his tongue across the tip of the little pink organ.

She flew apart, almost levitating off the bed with how arched her back was.

Like a sick bastard, he moved up to kneeling, put his tip back in and played at her entrance before he softened.

Watching their come mix and his hole drenched in both their creamy juices, made him growl low and deep, "I love you, and I can't have enough of you. _Ever_."

For several moments he kept rimming her slit with the head of his cock.

This puss was beautiful. She should draw _that_.

"I love you, too, but next time I'm the one sharing blood—not you. It's not the same," she said, staring at him, eyes heavy with a sated look.

"That's not negotiable. Your blood has already been shared. Doesn't need to be again."

When he collapsed into her, she sighed, yawned and flopped her arm over his sweaty chest.

"We can talk more about this later, paperman. Love you, but I need sleep."

"Sleep then, sweet. I'll keep you safe." _And keep from even thinking about your sweet blood._

.

.

.

Edward woke to the sound of tires squealing.

He was groggy, but he got up, got dressed and stepped out into the hallway so he could use the water closet.

"It wasn't my fault," Tommy said, catching him in the hallway.

"What are you talking about?" Edward rubbed his eyes.

"I told ya they'd take it."

"My motorcar?" Edward ran to the door, glanced outside and it was missing.

"I fell asleep at the window. I was too tired," Tommy explained. "That's my four dollars though."

"I'll let you keep the four dollars if you get me a straight razor. I need to shave," Edward said, his voice rough with sleep.

Isabella was right. He needed to go to work again, and she was tired of him hanging over her at all times.

"Will get you whatever you need," Tommy said.

Edward nodded, grunted, tripped over a toy in the hallway and dragged his way over to the water closet.

The door was shut, locked, and someone was clearly vomiting in there.

He grimaced.

When the door opened, Isabella's eyes went wide and she wiped at her mouth with the back of her arm.

"Are you ill again?" he asked, checking her over.

"It's the pregnancy." She moved past him.

Edward followed her back to her place.

A moment later, Tommy was knocking on the door, handing over a straight razor and holding his palm out for his four dollars.

Edward found his money bag and gave him the money.

"Sorry about your motorcar," Tommy said and backed his way out into the hallway.

"What happened to your motorcar?" Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming an O.

"It was stolen. I parked it out front, and someone apparently liked it," Edward said, shrugging.

"Wasn't that expensive?"

"It was. I'll need to call for my carriage to get to work today." He paused. "But first I want to shave." He waved the razor in the air.

She curled her right arm up and squeezed her shoulder with her right hand. She studied him. "Aren't you upset?"

"No. I knew it would happen, and I was correct."

"But you parked it there anyway."

He nodded. "Yes. I needed to be with you. I can replace it."

"I will replace it for you. And before you argue about it, just know I want to do this for you. It'll be a while of course, but I . . ."

"Why are you allowed to buy things for me, but I can't reciprocate? Do you see how backward this is?" He frowned. His chest tightened.

"When else will I know what to buy you or be able to? You'll always beat me to it—it will always be lopsided."

"When Roman provided for you, did it seem lopsided to you?" He popped his knuckles. They were aching to punch something.

She huffed and hung her head. "No, it didn't."

"Why? I want you to be my wife. I want to provide for you. Why should I be punished because I am wealthy and he was not?" He stretched his hands, hoping the ache would go away in his hands.

"I'm not trying to punish you." She grabbed a brush and began fixing her hair.

"You are. It hurts me that you won't allow me to do this. If you would let me, I would buy you your own motorcar. I would move you in with me and give you anything you needed. I would make sure this baby had a wonderful life and was never hungry. You would never struggle again." Edward came up behind her and took the brush; ran it through her long dark strands for her.

Her hair was so glossy and thick.

"Won't you miss having your own water closet, access to a bath anytime you want it?" He leaned in and whispered in her ear. "When I have my cock in you, it gets messy because you milk it, and I have a lot of come for you." He blew across her shoulder. It broke into goose bumps. "You don't have a good way to clean it up here, do you? And I want to be in you all the time—making you creamy and wetter than ever."

"I have a faucet now—there's running water." She leaned back into his chest as he stroked her hair.

He took a deep breath and his mind searched for some lure to draw her in. His eyes followed his hands. "Love touching you. Your hair's so beautiful and soft. Why deprive yourself of being able to clean it, luxuriate in a bath after a hard day at work? Running the paper business is stressful. Be good to your body—to my baby." He kissed her neck, ran his nose up her jugular. She gave a thready, fluttery moan. "You want that. You're a good woman, and you'll be a wonderful mother. Protect my baby."

"I will. And if I need those things, I'll find a way to provide them for myself."

He tensed his jaw, stepped away from her and handed her back the brush. It was futile trying to convince this woman of anything.

He exhaled and hoped someday she'd change her mind.

It was to his advantage to stop pushing. Never worked with her.

"Do you have a mirror so I can shave?"

"Yes," she said, smiling, but it didn't reflect in her eyes. "I'll get you a basin and some soap."

He smiled back, but it was equally as lifeless.

Why pretend he was fine with this? There was nothing satisfactory about not having her with him.

Tonight he'd have to stay here again because she would not budge.

He sighed and his shoulders rounded forward until she pointed at a mirror in her room on the wall.

She pulled a small table over, gave him a bowl and some soap.

A moment later she poured some water into the basin and then she moved away to leave him to his grooming.

She sang while he soaped his face and pulled the razor out.

_Schhhhwiiiick._

The blade was sharper than he would've thought.

He had to be careful and slow.

The mirror was cloudy as well.

He wiped it down, but it didn't help.

The mirror must've been old and stained.

_Schhhhhwiiiick._

He glanced at her in the mirror, and she was shimmying into her dress, leaning over and giving him a grand view.

_Schhhhwiiiick!_

"Ow!" He grabbed at his chin.

"What happened?" She came to his side, stroked his shoulder and then gasped.

"I think I cut myself," he said.

"You did." She leaned in, and her tongue extended.

She licked the blood off the edge of his jaw and let her tongue move slowly back into her mouth—taunting him.

"Mmmm . . ." She rolled her eyes back into her head and moaned with a low, raspy sound.

His blood. On her tongue. _Again_.

And more of it this time.

This seemed like more than her simply doing this for him.

The woman's chest flushed.

She loved it like he did.

Maybe not as much, but Christ! She was amorous from a taste.

"Jesus—fuck!" His cock throbbed and his mouth watered. The way his heart raced, he was on the edge of control.

She stared at the spot on his body that was bleeding.

"You're still bleeding. Want me to take care of it?" she asked, her voice shaky, and she sounded so aroused, he had to freeze in his spot.

"I . . . Isabella, keep away . . . I don't want to hurt you," he whimpered.

"You won't. Let me take care of you the way you do for me." She leaned in and her lips wrapped around the edge of his jaw. Her suction was light at first, but then it grew, and her tongue wiped over it and he groaned so loud, it traveled to his cock.

He bunched his fists at his sides, refraining from grabbing her and fucking her until she was a ragdoll.

He was lucky he hadn't bruised her last night. This had to stop before he really lost complete control.

What would be next? Broken bones?

Her hands reached out and she gripped his hips, opening her mouth wider and her tongue washed over him. He could feel it scrape along his whiskers, and the image of his blood on her taste buds threw him over the edge.

"Fuck! Don't move." He yanked her dress back down that had only made it up to her hips. His fingers dipped inside and she was slick and a little swollen.

She couldn't fake that. She really did love it.

His heart pounded and his dick bobbed.

"Edward . . . Tastes so good . . ." She grunted and reached around, cupping his ass, pulling him closer.

He picked her up by the haunches, tossed her on the bed and ripped his pants off.

In the next breath, he was on top of her, plunging inside of her.

"Suck my blood again," he said, tipping his chin back. "Take it in your mouth—oh God, please, Isabella. You have to. I want to be in your blood as much as you are in mine!"

"You already _are_, paperman. You are." Her lips parted, her tongue darted out and extended until she touched that bleeding spot again.

His dick grew longer, swelled inside her and he thrust so powerfully the wood on the bed was making cracking sounds like it was about to splinter.

"Suck it now! Hard, and don't stop until you come," he told her.

She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging in, and then she made a loud, moist smacking sound as she sucked greedily at the edge of his neck.

"I could've cut a vein. There would've been more blood. Fuck—I shouldn't want that, but you . . . You sucking my blood . . . Oh Christ . . . I'm about to . . ."

He reached down between them, rubbed viciously at her clitoris as she squirmed from his touch.

"Come for me. Suck my blood—show me how you love it when I make love to you." His breath caught at the way her puss clenched him when he told her to suck. "I'm inside you, Isabella. Do you feel me swelling and growing inside you? Do you feel what you've done to me and my blood?"

She hummed and sucked harder.

He fucked and his heart swelled.

"You love the taste of me on your tongue, don't you?" He pumped harder, deeper. "Say it by licking it and sucking so hard you mark me red by bringing more blood to the surface of my skin."

She clamped down on his cock so hard, he gasped. He shut his eyes to keep from coming.

But when she sucked, curled her tongue around the edge and ran her tongue along his jaw, he shuddered and pinched her clitoris.

"Come—oh, you have to. Come, sweet!"

She made this high pitched sound of utter ecstasy, he felt her toes curl as they grabbed into his calves, and then she came so hard, it set him off.

He pulled her mouth off him, plunged his tongue into hers and sucked traces of his blood off her.

Hot spurts filled her cunt, and his cock jerked with every grip of her tight muscles.

The moment they both caught their breath, instead of collapsing on her like he usually did, he rested his forehead on hers.

"Please, Isabella . . . I love you so much, it's so painful to think of you being in any other home but mine." He kissed her lightly. "I'm not trying to force you—I just want you to listen to your heart. Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes. I do."

"Then be with me."

"I will. I will when I feel like I am worth it." She kissed him, smiled like this was the best story reported in the paper, and then she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tight.

**A/N:**

**Nothing much to say except Anakinsmom has earned a second lap dance from Edward… She's a terrific beta.**

**Chanse**


	20. Chapter 20

**WARNING: EDGE PLAY WITH BLOOD**

**Chapter 20**

_January 20, 1900_

Murray Hall was dead.

Rosalie was pacing and crying.

"This was you! You did this, didn't you?" Isabella cried as she shook the paper before her sister-in-law then shoved it in her hands.

"What are you saying? You think I killed this . . . This . . . No! I could never," Rose glared at her through her tears.

"Then who would have done this?"

"I don't know who revealed this, but it wasn't me. I was trying to keep it hidden for both of us," Rose said through her sniffles. She grabbed a handkerchief and wiped her nose.

She was starting to show now and her belly protruded even more when Rose leaned over to remove her shoes.

"Why did you ever tell me to use my maiden name? And we both lied and listed Roman's last name that way as well the day he died—we told the police he was a Swan! It did us no good! Everyone will know what Roman was." Isabella smacked her palms on the table, the tea set shaking and rattling.

"You didn't know. No one will blame you. It's all on my shoulders. I hid it from the first day you met him."

Isabella stood then sat down, restless. She alternated between narrowing her eyes at Rose, crying then laughing with a humorless chuckle. This could not be real.

"Let me see that again. I can't believe the same didn't happen to Roman." Isabella ripped the paper out of Rose's hands and read it once more. "How is this possible?"

Rose shifted away from her.

Without thinking, Isabella was reading the article aloud: "Murray Hall Fooled Many Shrewd Men. For years, she masqueraded in male attire, married two women, and adopted a daughter. She smoked cigars, wore men's clothing, was a prominent Tammany politician and always voted. She was respected by her fellow peers, and many are shocked by this outcome now that her gender has been revealed upon her death."

Rose was making pained, guttural sounds now as if she was barely containing herself.

"Why did you let Emmett print this story in all of Edward's papers?" Isabella cried.

"I didn't find out in time. I'm not aware of all of his comings and goings." Rose ran her slender fingers over her face, but they were shaking so bad, her fingertips were pulling at her skin, making her look like a crazed demon.

"This is a disaster! I'll lose my business. People will know Roman Swan was in actuality, Ramona Hale. I always wanted to know why he never wanted to be intimate with me. And you kept it from me!" Isabella was shaking and her face heated. "Why would you do that if you cared for me as a sister?"

"It was for you! All of it! We needed to be protected, and three young ladies on their own would've been raped and murdered before too long. Ramona knew this, so when our parents were dragged out into the street that night, she knew she had to do something. So, she put on dad's clothes, grabbed his gun and went after them. There was no way to change what she did, and it was easier to keep telling the lie. You married her helped to make it more plausible." Rose was sobbing now, her face in her hands. "I'm sorry . . ."

"Yes, I daresay you are. Sorry you got caught. And what was your involvement with Murray Hall? Did he know about Roman as well?" Isabella sat down next to her and put a hand on her back to offer comfort.

Rose shrugged away from her touch. "Yes, Murray was aware. I was blackmailing to keep our secret hidden so I wouldn't reveal what he was to many of the prominent judges that frequented my bed. That's why I kept on being a call girl. It kept us safe. It kept our world the way it was, and I had money to bargain with. We needed that security, and I didn't want anything to happen to you. I p-promised Ramona while she was buried in all the rubble that I would keep you safe. And I've done that."

"I never wanted this for you!" Isabella jumped to her feet. "Damn you! This is on my head now! Your lifestyle—your idea of protection is a path to a place I never wanted you to go. There was nothing safe about taking strange men into your bed. Think of the diseases you've exposed yourself to over the years."

"I had little option."

"No, I shared options with you, but they weren't your ideas so you turned them down," Isabella shot back.

"Why are you so angry? You're with Edward now—he'll see to it this doesn't lead back to either of us. I'm with Emmett. We have safety." Rose lifted her eyes, and they were filled with so much sorry and regret, Isabella had to look away.

"All I know is I pride my integrity. I live for the truth, and I've been living an odious lie for so long, I barely know who I am now." Isabella stalked to the door. "For now, we must keep a distance. I'll need some space."

She opened the door, stepped through it, and considered never coming back or seeing her sister-in-law ever again.

.

.

.

Isabella was supposed to go see a doctor today. Rose's doctor, but now the thought of being around her was nauseating. She had to find someone else to tend to her.

The only doctors she knew was the one that helped her after she'd come down with pneumonia, and then the one at the hospital she'd taken Edward to after she'd broken his nose.

She remembered his interest in her accomplishments at the tenements society rally and how friendly he'd been, not to mention how much younger than the other doctor, and that was enough for her.

He might be the right person to ask about this . . .

She rolled her shoulders back and entered the establishment.

The smell of harsh cleansers made her nose twitch. Ick!

As soon as she asked the first person for Carlisle, they doubled their pace and brought her straight to him.

He was in his office.

"I'm not seeing clients right now," he said, waving his hand in the air without looking up from the document on his desk.

"Oh . . . Well, I'll come back another time then," Isabella replied, her face dropping along with her heart.

"Miss Swan?" His head jerked up and he smiled brightly.

"Yes, I'm here to ask you . . ." How could she ask this? It was bound to be mortifying.

"Yes?" His eyes widened somewhat.

"I uh . . . I'm not sure how to ask this," she said, fumbling in her mind with her words.

"Why don't you close the door, and take a moment, then say it. I doubt you could ever say anything I haven't heard before." He motioned toward the door.

She closed it with her foot, and then marched right over to him him, blurting on her way, "I'm pregnant, and the father of this baby loves blood. I do, too. I never thought I would, but I love it. The taste of his anyway. I know cutting's dangerous, but what if I made a small laceration right here above the breast so he could . . . You know," she said, making a slight slashing motion over her left breast, about two inches down from her collar bone.

"No, I don't know." He smirked.

"Dammit, you said you'd heard everything before." Her face flamed. "We have unusual intimate interests."

"Such as?" He set both his palms on his desk with an air of patience and humor.

"He ties me up sometimes, okay? I like to be spanked, so he does that. He's even used a flogger and a crop on me, and I don't know . . . They do something to me. I turn wild, and so does he, but the most unleashed I've seen him was when I accidentally cut my finger. He sucked on it and I swear he was drugged off it. I want that again, only more magnified and during . . . intercourse," she said the final word quieter.

"He's a lucky man—but I'd wager I don't have to tell you that." He rubbed his chin then leaned his jaw into his palm like this was all commonplace. "I myself have the same proclivities, and obviously, I could see the same qualities in you he did. Only that man was quicker on the chase than I was. After I met you, saw what you'd done to him, I knew you'd be amazing to break in. And I knew you'd already had a taste of how much pleasure there can be when there's pain involved. You can't fully submit if you don't know what it means to exert your will over someone else first. You are a fascinating specimen, Isabella."

She blinked and swallowed. "You know about these kinds of illicit things? You don't think me dirty or disgusting?"

"Why would I? As long as you're both careful, these are healthy sexual fantasies, and there's no need to repress them." He stood up.

"What should I do then to fulfill his bloodier fantasies? I don't w-want to hurt myself, but I really want to give him this. It would be the greatest gift ever," she said, stumbling over her words.

Was it because he was approaching her with a scalpel?

"I daresay you'll be giving him the greatest gift when you bare his child, but this is pretty damn wonderful too." He licked across his finger and then nicked it with the blade.

"The problem with the fingertip is that you use your fingers all the time, am I right?"

"Yes, and it stings when I'm drawing, or did when I accidentally sliced it open that last time." She watched in morbid curiosity as he sucked his wounded finger and his pupils dilated.

He removed it and said, "I've never seen the appeal before now, but you're right—there's something incredibly sensual about sharing blood with your lover. We take their come, so why not this too? Why not give everything?" His eyes darkened further. "That's what I want from my lover. All they are—everything they possess—it's mine. It sounds like he's similar."

She nodded. "He doesn't want everything—he doesn't have to. I give it freely and can't resist. He's a drug to me as well." She smiled in a dazed way. This was surreal.

"If you're looking for a good doctor or midwife for you to birth your baby with . . ."

"No. I want you," she said.

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you just told me you understand our fixations and desires. I don't think you'll judge me, and now that I know I can tell you anything about our interests and ask questions unabashed, it has to be you." She grabbed his arm. "Please."

He stared at her hand on his arm. "I . . . You'll need to talk to your partner first."

"I will. I'm sure Edward will agree without reserve." She let go of him and stepped back.

"Like I said . . . Lucky man. Next time bring him with you. I'll want to check with him before I take you on as a regular client. He might object to certain things and as head of the household—"

"I haven't married him," she said, her voice tight and high pitched.

"Why the devil not? Don't you love him? You sound like you do when you speak of him."

She shook her hand in front of her. "No, no, it's not that. I love him more than I ever convey, but I'm not ready for that yet."

"But you intend to bare his child?" He chuckled. "I'd say you should worry more about being judged for that decision than anything you do that's unconventional in the bedroom. After all—who's going to find out about those things other than those you choose to share it with?"

Her face heated once more. "I worry we might get sloppy. I bruise easily now that I'm with child, and when he's rough—like I want him to be—it leaves marks sometimes. He worries about my wrists having marks, so he's been immobilizing my legs instead since those are covered with clothing."

"Tell him to try something more flexible and soft like your stockings. Works great on the wrists and leaves no mark if you're careful to avoid struggling and thrashing too wildly."

"Are you in earnest?"

"I am." He glanced down at her legs.

"I don't wear stockings. I can't afford them." She frowned.

"Well, sell me one of your paintings, and take the proceeds straightaway to get a pair. You don't have to break them in by wearing them on your legs. Tying them to a bedpost is more fun anyway." He blinked and chuckled when she gasped a little.

"You definitely have to be my doctor. Please say yes, Carlisle."

"For you, I'd most likely always say yes, but for him . . . He has to decide. You belong to him now. He gets the final say." He walked over to the door, opened it and let her out.

"What about where I can cut myself. Was the spot I chose okay?"

"It is. Here." He wrapped a cloth around the scalpel he'd just used. "Clean this—disinfect it with some whiskey and then do as you said. A small incision is all you'll need." He passed her something else. "Bandage it with this afterward, and use some witch-hazel on it to clean the wound before covering it. Only one cut though. With you expecting—"

"I will. One only. I promise." She smiled, took what he offered and left without another word.

Somehow the sky looked bluer today and the world more promising.

If she was with Edward and could find a way to keep on pleasing him, maybe he'd keep her and think her worth the effort. Maybe this thing with Roman's past would be nothing of significance in her life.

That is if Edward didn't cast her off after she told him.

Her chest ached, and she walked faster.

She needed to see him soon.

.

.

.

"Isabella!" Edward hollered, racing through his home.

She hadn't been at hers when he arrived there.

She hadn't arrived at work today either.

What happened?

"Isabella—goddammit, answer me! Where are you, love?" He went from bedroom to bedroom, his racing harder when each room turned up empty.

It wasn't until his heart clenched so hard and his fist slammed into a wall, he heard a gasping noise from his bathtub.

"Isabella?" he breathed, stalking toward the bathroom. "Where have you been?"

"Edward, I need you . . ."

God, his legs almost gave out on him. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, just please come to me . . ." Her voice sounded far off and shaky.

There was a sloshing sound.

Naked. She was in the bath.

He shed his clothes on his way to her, dropping items as he went.

When he walked into the bathroom, he stopped and his breath hitched.

"I love you. This is me—loving you. It's safe, so don't you try to stop me. I've talked to a doctor," she said, whispering the edge of a scalpel across the top of her chest.

"Isabella . . ." He licked his lips and inched forward. "You shouldn't . . . Give me the knife, sweet."

"No. You want this, and I do, too." It drifted over her gleaming porcelain skin.

The vision of red on that milky white skin again hardened his shaft.

"I know what I'm doing . . ." She opened her mouth and ticked the edge across her tongue.

"Hoooohhhhh," he exhaled and blood rushed into his groin, making it throb.

"What if I cut, turn this bath water red? Would you fuck me in a pool of my blood? It would be all over your body, in your crack, in your hair . . ." She grinned and her eyes were heavy hooded. "I'd bathe you in my blood while you were inside me. It doesn't get more intimate than that."

"You don't have . . . t-to . . ." He was mesmerized, watching her play with the surgical knife. His tongue went heavy.

"A small cut can go a long way . . ." She flipped the blade from side to side on the tip of her nipple. "If I cut here, you'd suck it and it would make me so hot for you . . ."

"Isabellllaaaa," he slurred a little, intoxicated off the idea she was putting in his head.

"But that might really hurt, so instead—" She roamed the knife up, and _swiiiiip_.

A tiny incision, smaller than the width of the scalpel blade was placed halfway between her collar bone and nipple on her right side.

She smeared her palm over it in a swirling pattern, tipped her head back then dropped her head to the side and gave him a voracious look. "It's for you. I want to share this with you." She licked up her index finger and smacked her lips then dipped all her fingertips in the water.

His eyes enlarged as the red swirled through the water and then dissolved, making it pink.

He was leaking.

And his feet were moving.

"Scoot up," he said, his voice husky as he lowered himself on top of her.

The water was warm, she was white, red and wet, and he was hungry.

Without thinking, he dipped his head down, ran his lips across the oozing wound and then covered her nipple below it with the crimson paint.

He licked and moaned, sucked and bit, imagining the blood coming from her nipple.

His tongue and lips would go back as if dipping a paint brush in the paint and then he would coat her body wherever he chose with the delicious, sticky blood.

He sucked lightly at the incision, teased her clitoris with the tip of his cock, and strained to maintain control. His cock was screaming to pound into her—take utter control.

"This makes you wild—doesn't it?" She dangled the knife above the dip in her neck.

"Yessss," he hissed, his grip tightening on the edge of the tub.

There was a cracking noise for a moment and then a clack, followed by a small splash.

She dropped the knife into the tub.

"You won't know where it is—if it'll cut me somewhere else," she said.

His head immediately turned to where the sound had originated.

"I will make a deal with you, paperman. I won't move—not one inch, if you let go. If you fuck me with abandon, and forget about any danger—bathe yourself in your blood lust. You're already letting it soak into your pores whether you like it or not. My blood is all over your body. Mix our come in this water, too. I promise if you become unhinged, I will, too, and we'll never look back," she said. She stretched her tongue out and beckoned him with it.

"Aaaaaaghhhhh! What you do to me," he ground out and then he had his fingers in her.

It was frenzy. Tasting her, knowing she was his unconditionally in this moment.

No matter how hard he took her, she remained still, and that helped me quit worrying about how she might get hurt.

If anyone would get cut unwittingly, it would be him, since he was thrashing around in the water like a madman, touching her puckered anus with his fingers, probing at that hole.

"You love the forbidden—and so do I," he whispered in her ear, licking the lobe after.

"All of it," she agreed.

"I know you want more though," he said, propping himself up.

He dipped the edge of his dick in the blood on her chest, coaxed her mouth open and shoved his dick inside with a harsh lunge.

In that moment, he felt the blade move across his right calf.

"Ssssfucking good," he gasped at the knick on his leg that just happened.

The pain of that mixed with the pleasure she gave him, had his head foggy.

His hips surged forward, speeding up. He gripped the edge of the tub harder, and used it as leverage.

The more powerfully he drove into her, the more the water churned, and the blade bounced in the waves and clinked along the bottom.

His hand swooped down and he searched for the damned thing.

"Fffffuuuuhhh," he exhaled in a rush as it sliced the tip of his pinky.

He gripped the handle, pulled it out of the water and threw it across the room.

It clacked onto the floor.

The moment he saw his blood, he gave this feral yell at the back of his throat, "Ffffffuuuuuuck!"

He ground his finger into her small cut, mixing his blood with hers.

His tongue did the most obscene things as it danced across the mixture.

He slurped and sucked at his finger then alternated with her wound.

In a flash, he shoved his finger in her mouth.

She licked, moaned and grabbed at the root of his shaft, her fingertips at the edge of it while he kept thrusting into her.

"You are worth it. I am worth it. You are mine. You'll live here with me—my woman. My wife. We share more than blood—we share our hearts and our life together. I surrender to you and what you need. If you need for us to exchange fluids this way, that is what we will do." He bit down on her neck, twisted her nipple below the laceration and shortened his pumps into jabbing, punishing slams.

"Say it," she cried out.

"You already know," he replied.

So close to ecstasy.

"Say you live for me and my cunt," she whispered.

"I live for more than that—I live to fuck you hard, make love to you when you're spent and die when I'm inside you. You are why I breathe."

She choked on thick emotions, her eyes watered and she came undone.

Her body writhing beneath him was spectacular—but her heart—the gift she truly gave him—that was unearthly.

"Mine!" He gripped her hair, bit the other side of her neck, and he came with their blood in his mouth, his heart taking over his body, and his fears evaporated.

He draped his body over her in a reverent way for a moment as he caught her breath, then he was meticulous as he washed her cut, making sure to clean it thoroughly.

"This might need stitches," he said.

"It doesn't. I talked to my doctor about how to do this. He said to put some honey on it, the stickiness would keep the edges of skin together and it would heal quickly. He also gave me some bandages." She smiled.

"Honey? I've never heard of that before." He kissed across the spot where she'd willingly bled for him.

She beamed at him.

"I adore you, sweet. You've never been merely a puss to fuck. You're the person that gets to the heart of me—yanks me off my feet, puts me on my ass and keeps me there until I turn stupid and get back up."

"It's always better down here with us little people," she said, but she sounded off.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

He kept washing her entire body.

"I have something to tell you," she said then she bit her lip.

It was quivering.

"What? Tell me?" He pinched her chin to loosen her teeth from her lip.

"Let's take care of this first," she said, pointing at both their cuts.

He helped her out and glanced at the water.

It looked like he'd murdered someone in there. So dark red, and so stunning.

She had set out the supplies to disinfect and bandage.

"Did the doctor really tell you honey?"

She paused and said, "No. It's something my mom used to do. It stings less than whiskey."

"Yes, but whiskey will actually take care of it, whereas I doubt the honey will do a damn thing." He reached for the cloth and the liquor bottle.

"How about we do both? To make sure we're thorough?" Her eyes were soft, and sucking him in.

Was there anything he wouldn't do for this woman? If she asked him to create a cavity in his chest and reach in and pluck his heart out, he'd do it without hesitating.

It already felt like she had. His heart was still racing a little.

"That was intense—I can't believe you did that, and that I let you," he said, jerking his head over to the scalpel on the floor.

"If you had said no, I still would've done it. You needed it. Blood does something to you," she said.

He sat her down on a chair against the wall, went about fixing her up.

She winced at the sting of the whiskey but then went quiet.

He'd handled cuts like this on himself hundreds of times from boxing, and he was in awe at how calm she was about the fact she'd created a gash on her person on purpose.

"I hope it doesn't scar," he said.

"I do."

"Why?" His brows scrunched together.

"Because I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life. I'll wear it like a crucifix around my neck. It's my moment of saving grace—the moment I found who I am." Her voice shook.

"And who is that? A goddess? Someone I truly am unworthy of?" He placed the bandage on then kissed above it.

"The day I found I am whole when I submit to you—give you everything I am and watch you fall apart because of it. We both avoided love, only I didn't realize I had done it on purpose. I learned to let go because of you." She placed his hand over her heart. "This is yours, my love. You have it. And I will live with you and be your wife if that's what you truly want."

"I do."

"Good." She kissed his sliced up fingertip, still bleeding, she licked her lips then went about bandaging him up.

There was something cathartic about healing each other this way.

"If I forgot to tell you today, you're beautiful, I absolutely cannot live without you, and I love you." He blinked and swallowed.

She gave him a look that was filled with dread.

"Just remember I love you, too. No matter what, and I wanted to give this moment to you . . .in case . . ."

He cupped her cheeks. "Good," he echoed her from a moment ago.

She gulped and shifted back away from him.

"Roman was a woman," she said.

His hands fell, and so did his heart.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and that was the last thing he saw of her before she left the bathroom, naked, bandaged and clearly unready to say more.

His knees buckled and he dropped to the floor.

The color he saw now was not red at all.

It was black—like his raging soul.

**A/N:**

**Okay, so I have to claim artistic license again on this chapter. Murray Hall actually died a year later. His/her death date was January 19, 1901, but for this story, I had to change the year. You'll forgive me, right? Eek.**

**Some good news—done with one of my editor's suggestions, so now I've got two more editors to go. Phew! But I am still in serious need of ARC reader/reviewers, and I'd much rather give them away to you guys since you've all been so supportive of me. So, if you're interested in an ARC for either of my stories, **_**Sleeves**_ **or **_**Knots**_ **(or both—no such thing as being too greedy as far as I'm concerned), let me know. Shoot me an email at: chanselowell . I'll put you on the list, and I have it in all formats, so no matter what I've got you covered. Both books are already up on Goodreads without covers though since that's still in the works, and right now, I'm so freaking excited about the cover ideas being presented to me for **_**Sleeves**_**. Man, it's gonna be hot!**

**Due to the jealousy I've received over Anakinsmom receiving lap dances from Edward, I'm gonna make sure she gets another one. That's the going rate for betas nowadays, isn't it? Hee hee! One more free lap dance for Anakinsmom today at noon. That way it'll be full daylight and she can see every tiny muscle ripple. Should be fun. I do hope she takes pictures. ;D**

**All right, folks. One more chapter and it's done. All finished and for now, no plans for a sequel. I rarely do them. But I won't say never, because I was seriously obsessed with the this story and time period. In fact, I'm writing a story I'll be publishing in a few months called **_**Pearl on Cherry**_ **set a few years after this one, and in New York as well. Another one of my versions of what an early Dom on a rudimentary level might be like. This one has his own set of fetishes. He's a French speaking man, who's also an arrogant SOB until he meets his match. Only she's much better at evading him than this Bella was, and for good reasons… *sighs* Can't wait to get moving on that one again soon…**

**Thank you,**

**Chanse**


	21. Chapter 21

**WARNING: EDGE PLAY WITH BLOOD**

**Chapter 21**

"Did you know?" he asked the moment he was able to drag himself off the floor and find her in their bedroom, standing over opened luggage.

He walked over to her and shut it.

She only had a few items in there like some stockings he'd never seen her wear before, and two slips.

"No. I just found out. Rose told me," she said, sniffing.

She kept her eyes averted.

He sat down on the bed and dragged her down into his lap.

"Why does this feel almost more intimate and invasive than being trapped under you and being fucked into a stupor?" She swiped at a few stray tears on her cheeks.

"Because it's a place you know you can't hide from me," he said, kissing her cheek.

"How much do you want to know?" She stared at the wall.

He shifted her so she was sitting sideways across his lap. With one hand he stroked her bottom through the thin fabric, and with the other, he turned her head so she'd look at him.

"Everything—don't leave a word out," he breathed.

His chest was tight, but his touch on her was light.

That blood bath had soothed him in an odd way like nothing else ever had.

And even though he wanted to kill this dead man—or woman, as it happened to turn out—he was eerily calm again within moments.

He needed to be for her.

And he was glad she chose to tell him now when he could handle it better.

In a whirlwind, she blurted everything at once, rambling about how she was so furious with Rose she wanted to rip her hair out and then sell it to other whores for a nice wig, and how she wanted to spit in her food for making her change her name.

"Wait—what did you say about your last name? Why did she suggest you change it?"

"I said that wrong." She took a big breath and then shook her hair out behind her. A few droplets rained down on his thigh.

Little moments like this held him spellbound.

Her lips parted and her eyes went glassy. "She told us we should change our last name to my maiden name, rather than take on his last name, of Hale."

"What was the reasoning?" He caressed up and down her back, over the curve of her spine and back down her bottom.

So supple and warm down there. Next time he would prime her more. He needed in that hole, too.

"She said that those men that had shot their parents and killed them, would be looking for a Roman Hale, not a Roman Swan, and in our neighborhood, there were several Romans, so it seemed to be a logical choice to confuse them." She sounded far away, somewhere else in her mind.

"Why did Rose keep her last name then if it was so dangerous? And what about how they'd tracked down your family as well? You told me they'd pulled both your families out that night."

She nodded. "They did, but Rose and Roman both believed they did it to scare their family. If they made an example of my family, it would scare them into doing what they wanted. The Hales were the ones behind on their rent—not us. Not my family." She placed her palms on her thighs and her hands shook.

"I know this is painful, but please tell me as much as you can. I promise I'll take care of you after, sweet. I'll love you and hold you in my arms, singing you to sleep. You've been so brave for me today. Such a good girl," he cooed into her soft shoulder.

She curled her fingers into her flesh. "Things went wrong I suppose. I only told you bits of what had happened. They raised the gun on my dad, and I jumped in front of him. My dad tried to push me out of the way, and while that was happening my mother launched herself at the man holding the gun. The shots were fired, and his arms had jerked in the other direction, shooting a hole in Rose's father's neck. He was gasping for his life and I . . . I caused that," she sobbed.

"You did no such thing. You tried to save your own flesh and blood. There was nothing you could do otherwise," he said, kissing her arm with soft, butterfly flicks of his mouth.

"And her mom . . . She watched him die. She attacked the man, and she secured his gun, but instead of turning on the attacker, she shot herself in the temple, taking her own life. Rose and I saw it all, and Roman . . . He didn't know what happened. He went mad—shooting at all of them. That's when they ran. But it was all a mess . . . Blood everywhere. I spent the entire night cleaning it up on my own. I couldn't sleep—I couldn't face Rose the next day—the girl I didn't know, because I was the reason her parents were gone. That's why I'll always owe her." She sagged into his chest, curled into a ball and wept.

He lay down with her tucked up against him.

His murmurings of love and empathy saturated the air.

Eventually she fell asleep, and eventually he would be able to find a way to breathe without his heart bleeding for her and the horrors she'd seen.

.

.

.

Edward and Emmett worked through the day and night, calling all the papers, making sure the story was straight for Murray Hall.

The gender of the body was not something they could hide, but they could make sure Hall's connections to Rose and her sister, Ramona, posing as Roman, would not be discovered.

Roman had known about Hall and that's where the idea had come from.

Hall had successfully fooled people for years—why couldn't Roman do it, too?

Only, Hall had power and money. Roman did not.

Isabella was in a state, worrying this would ruin Edward's and Emmett's credibility and they would lose their businesses.

She should have known better than that.

Edward was a master at covering up information. It's what he always did.

"You're sure it says exactly what I told you?" Edward repeated on the phone.

"Yes, Mr. Masen. I have it down the way you specified," Mr. Bryant replied.

"Read it to me once more," Edward said, grabbing the paper from the Times that was about to go to print.

He wanted all the stories across town to match.

"Murray Hall Shocks Those Who Knew Him. He is survived by a wife, a daughter and no other kin," Bryant read. "His friends are in a state of mourning; his assets are all to go to his daughter, and no charges to be made against his wife for aiding him in this criminal activity." Then he prattled off the laws and how it protected his family from any recrimination.

Edward's back rolled into his cushioned seat. "Good. Send it to print."

He ended the call and stared at Rose who was glaring at the judge across from her.

"Make it disappear," she told him.

"I already have. No one will ever know Hall changed her last name from Hale, that she was your aunt and that is why those men came after your family. Secrets like that are difficult to hide, but I've buried it for good." The judge pulled out a cigar and lit it.

"I don't want Isabella to know either. She's been through enough," Edward said.

A soft gasp came from the door.

He turned to find a pale Isabella, clutching at her throat and eyes watering.

"Rose!" she shouted. "How could you?"

"I didn't . . . I had to!" Rose stood and moved toward her sister-in-law.

Right when Edward expected Isabella to run off, she stomped toward Rose and her hand flew.

"I don't owe you anything else!" Isabella yelled. "Nothing—do you hear me? And don't you ever say you were selling your body because you liked it!"

"I hated it," Rose broke down and whimpered. "I did it so I could blackmail men like him—" she pointed at the judge "—and others that knew my family's secrets. I had no choice."

"I . . . You should have told me." Isabella collapsed into Rose's arms.

"You've been so disgusted with me," Rose said, her eyes red from crying. "You told me to get rid of my baby—that's how vile you think me."

"I didn't know—not until I carried my own babe. I would have never suggested such a thing had I known what it was like. I realize now you could never do that, and neither could I."

They cried on each other's shoulders, apologizing for many past misdeeds. Rose told her about she had rid herself of her laudanum addiction thanks to Emmett's help and her doctor's.

They both promised to always be there for each other for the rest of their days no matter what.

.

.

.

**April 20, 1900**

Isabella's back ached like it had been pounded with a sledge hammer. But that was nothing compared to her throbbing headache.

She rubbed her temples and concentrated on her paper before her.

Today was the first day her paper was up and running.

Today was the beginning of something big.

Her employees were smiling even if she wasn't.

The noise was constant, and she longed to have a moment's peace so she could think straight.

"Pardon me, Mrs. Masen," the man poked his head in.

"Yes?" She barely lifted her head and her eyes drooped.

"We need you to come and inspect what we've done then sign the work log," the construction worker said.

Somehow her staff worked tirelessly around the crew fixing the last two beams at the edge of her office.

"Certainly—I'll be right there." She rubbed her belly for a moment then heaved herself up.

Her legs were sluggish as she roamed over to the door.

"I don't care who hired you—you're not to be around my wife!" she heard a familiar voice holler.

"Edward—what are you doing here?" She groaned and rolled her eyes.

First day and already he was meddling.

"Did you know he was in your building?" Edward pointed at Stanford and glared at her.

"Yes, I knew. He's been in charge of renovations for weeks now." She stretched her neck from side to side to work the cricks out.

"Unbelievable!" He pulled her into her office, closed the door and circled around her, a low growl building in his chest.

"This is my paper, correct?"

"It is, and my one stipulation was to keep yourself and _my_ baby safe," he said, his jaw twitching it was so tense.

"I am more than safe." She yawned and stretched.

He was on her in the next second, crushing her to his chest.

Her belly was barely noticeable to others, but this close—she could feel how round it was and how it got in the way.

"You are not to work near him. I won't allow it." He stared in her eyes.

"Fine. I'll just go right out there and tell his wife she can't work here either." She swung away from him, opened the door and called out, "Mary! I need to see you, please . . ."

A woman that looked like she could be Isabella's sister waltzed right in.

The women hugged and chatted for a moment about how hard it was to pregnant, and how it was only going to get worse when the heat hit.

"Excuse me?" Edward cleared his throat. "I believe introductions are in order."

Isabella batted her lashes at him, goading him. "This is Mary Stanford, and she is married to Arnold Stanford. They have two daughters together. She left because she thought he was being untrue. I tracked her down through letters, we corresponded, and I set things right."

He swallowed and his palms sweated. "I beat that man because he was trying to take you to bed against your will," he said low, but loud enough Mary would hopefully hear it.

"He was drunk. He regrets that every day of his life. He has apologized to me a thousand times. And since I could not afford to fix the supports for this building, and I was the one that found his wife and helped them reconcile, he begged me to work on this construction for free." Isabella stepped over to her husband and grabbed his hand then squeezed it in hers. "You'd already paid him six months of salary, so it was the least he could do for us." She kissed his cheek.

Mary beamed at them. "He truly is a wonderful man. I'm an awfully jealous wife, and I was too young to realize that just because women flirted with him, it did not mean he reciprocated or did anything unseemly. He actually remained true to me while I was away."

Edward scowled at Mary.

"Oh, well, he did slip up a few times, but he always went to confession after and then avoided that woman." Mary flushed. "He told me that the night he burned your apartment down, was the night he realized what a demon he'd become. He hasn't touched liquor since then, and he's been very attentive to our girls."

"And now that you're home, working here for me, we're all great friends." Isabella placed her head on Edward's shoulder and sighed.

"You may go now," Edward told Mary.

"But Mrs. Masen wanted to see me," Mary replied.

"She's done with you. Leave, and shut the door on your way out—make sure to lock it," Edward said, his voice tight and edgy.

The woman obeyed and Edward went about closing the curtains on her windows.

"I believe you are up to mischief making of some sort." Isabella smirked.

"I came here to give you a welcoming gift, sweet wife, and now you shall receive it with delight and gratitude." He prowled after her, taking his time.

"Is it a camera?"

"No." His eyes darkened and his lips parted.

They were moist. She could tell from where she stood, his mouth was flooding for her.

"Is it a motorcar parked out front?"

"Heavens, woman, if you ever said yes, I would buy you one without further delay," he said, shaking his head, grinning. "Try again."

"Is it a straight razor, so we can baptize my desk in blood and come?" Her voice broke as her breath hitched.

She leaned up against her wobbly desk and it skidded a little from her weight.

"Closer. Very close, and you're wet—very wet for me. I can tell by the way you're watching me," he said, his tone darker than his look.

"I don't need to guess anymore because I know you're about to spill your secret," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Is that so?"

"It is a fact well known that Mr. Masen cannot stand to withhold anything from his bitch of a wife. Or so I am told." She shrugged by lifting her right shoulder.

"I believe your wound has healed from our session three months ago. That there's not a single mark on your pure-white skin. How is that possible? Is it that you're so adept at cutting yourself that you're an expert, or is it because we need to try harder?" He stood right in front of her, his legs on the outside of hers.

His prominent erection jutting out, taking her attention.

She stared at it.

"Is your surprise down your pants? I think you could hide anything down there and I would fail to notice since your cock takes all my notice."

He stroked himself then took her hand and had her do it for him.

"Your gift, sweet, is something very small. Very sharp and tempting as sin." He pulled out a small needle with a little knob on the end of it out of his suit coat pocket.

"What is that?"

"It's from China. I paid for a set of these," he said.

"Why?" Her nose wrinkled up.

"It gets rid of headaches," he stroked the rounded end of it over her temple, "it has erotic uses, and best of all," he stuck the sharp end into the back of his hand, "it feels amazing. There's very little blood, but enough to curb my appetites. And maybe yours, too."

"Is it safe?"

"The use of this healing medium predates history." He twisted it into his skin deeper and then let go. The pin stayed in place, and dammit everything she knew about sensuality—it was the sexiest thing she'd ever seen.

"Does it hurt?" Her throat constricted at the thought of taking it out and lapping up his droplets of his potent red elixir.

She'd forgotten how much she craved this.

He'd been so busy setting up a nursery for their baby as she went about getting her newspaper company running.

"If it truly hurt, it would not have been a staple in traditional Chinese medicine for so long. It's a wonderful way to send energy rushing to the areas that need it."

He grabbed her wrist and licked across her pulse point then pulled out another tiny needle and tickled it across a blue vein on her inner arm. "There is no cutting allowed. I talked to your "doctor." He said you're too advanced now in your pregnancy to do that."

"You talked to Carlisle?" Her eyes went wide and her lips thinned as she pressed them together.

"I did." He nipped at delicate bones on the side of her wrist and then pulled away. "God you smell good. Do you know what this scent does to me?" He licked her again.

"Why did you speak to him when I know you dislike him so much?"

"We had a nice long chat. He told me all that you've said to him, and it seems he thinks I've been too soft on you, that you want me to push you further. And you know . . . I hate to admit it, but I believe he's right. He told me how I can take you in hand in a more effective way—bring you to your knees instead of the other way around. I'm rather sweet on the idea of you being down there. Places your mouth right where I need it and keeps it busy so you'll be more apt to listen, and less apt to talk. That's what you want isn't it? To suck me, then for me to fuck you hard? Right now—it's what you crave."

Her right leg shook as she tried to pull her thighs together to quell the throbbing there.

She'd be damned if she let him fuck her in here on her first day opening the office up for business.

"What's the matter, sweet? Don't like me talking to that man? Finding out more of your deviant desires? Things you were maybe too afraid to tell me . . ."

"I was merely collecting information so I could be what you need and we could both fulfill our desires." She lifted her chin. "He knows what he's doing," she said, her spine stiffening.

"Does he now? Seems to me delivering babies isn't something he does very often, but knowing how to tie women up, gag them and fuck them senseless is his specialty." He rolled the pin across the heel of her palm.

Her fingers twitched at the sensation. It was erotic—it was torture—it was bliss.

Within seconds her shoulders were sagging, and her body was rounding toward him. "Okay, yes—I went to him because he told me he had odd sexual appetites like we do. I thought he'd understand, and I thought you'd like that I had someone I could ask my odd, slightly embarrassing questions to. Are you upset with me?"

"Why, heavens, no. Sweet girl, I asked him my own questions as well—seeing as how he's as old as I am, and has been dealing with his urges for the same amount time as I have. Only, he's not interested blood like we are." He pulled her skirt up enough he could put his hands up inside.

She gasped when his chilly fingers brushed across her inner thighs.

"He's into strangling—controlling how and when a woman breathes." Edward rolled his fingers across her clitoris until he was pinching.

"What did you think of his proclivities?" she said, under her breath. She tried to keep from panting, but it was useless.

Her nipples tightened, and her legs spread wider.

"I told him that was sick, but not as sick as what we want to do to each other. I want to eat your come, drink your blood, and fuck your ass," he leaned in and whispered.

She heard something squish, and then he turned her over, had her chest on the desk, and her bottom exposed.

"I love these round cheeks, and you know how much I love your powder-white skin, but you hid this from me." His teeth clicked as his jaw slammed shut. "No more of me being too soft on you."

_Swaaack!_

A light paddling on her cheek made her jump.

"You're spanking me?" She swallowed and a rush shot from her throat, through her gut and down to her puss.

"Yes, you deserve it."

_Swaaaack!_

His fingers squeezed where he'd smacked her.

"Oh, it's red already, and I used hardly any pressure at all." He leaned over, sucked at the spots that tingled with heat from his swats.

The next thing she knew, there was something prodding at her anus.

Her cheeks clenched.

"Relax. Or I'll help you to," he said.

_Swaaaack!_

She clenched her cheeks again when he probed once more.

He set the needle down he'd had before, right in front of her face on the desk.

"There's a place I can stick this needle in your skin, and it will send vibrations to your puss, making you forget I'm invading your ass. Would you like that, my little mite?" He chuckled with a sinister sound.

Chills raced down her back.

"Yes. I want you to lick the blood on the pin as you insert it. If any gushes out, I want you to have it on your tongue," she said, her belly heavy and her puss throbbing.

The pulse at the juncture of her thighs was racing.

She'd never felt anything like that before.

"Tell me what you mean to me—little miss," he said, changing his tone of voice.

It went from taunting, to stern.

"Tell me why I wasn't informed Stanford was here, and how you saved that man and his wife." He paused and gripped her ass with one hand, and then something was sliding into her tight, puckered hole.

She gasped but then told herself he would never hurt her. Ever.

He never had, and never would.

It slowly eased in further then twisted for a moment and seated itself there.

She breathed slow and deep, closing her eyes to concentrate.

"Hmm . . . Why didn't you tell me? Didn't you think I would trust you after you explained why you thought it a good idea to be near him?" His finger pulsed with tiny movements inside her.

"I . . . I didn't think it would matter . . . And I was busy."

She sucked in a gasp when his cock was suddenly at her other hole, slipping across the slit.

"If you don't tell me why, I may change course, and my cock might decide it wants to try and take the place of my finger. I don't think you're ready for that—my favorite slut—so for now, why don't you confess. Tell me all your sins."

She huffed and blew a few stray hairs off her face.

"All right! I knew you'd be jealous. I knew you'd tell me it was a poor idea, and I didn't need you pissing on my plans. I was going to prove I could do this on my own without your influence or money." Her chest ached when she heard how calloused she sounded.

"Oh, I see, and I don't matter? As your husband, I don't get any say? You've earned this, love. Don't you think I won't take what's mine, and if that man ever comes near you and does anything at all unsavory, you will tell me." He slipped another finger inside her. It was well lubricated, that wasn't the problem.

What worried her was how she loved that stinging burning sensation. Something inside her—something deep in her core, snapped, and she begged, "Please, please, fuck my ass! Please, darling. I need it!"

A wanton, voracious moan ripped out of her, and the next thing she knew, he was easing his cock inside her.

Tight, gripping yelps tore out of her chest as he gripped her hair by the handful at the nape, whispered in her ear, "I've never fucked a slut this way before. They never earned it. But you—my wife—the woman I die for—are worth it."

He grunted, slipped deeper inside her, and that burning, pulsing pain turned into the most exquisite sensation.

It rocked through her groin, making her puss clench and drip.

"So good . . . I . . . I can . . . It's forbidden, and I . . . There are people in the other room—hearing you take me," she stammered.

She went up on tiptoes, arching and her ass pleaded for more.

He was moving so slow, so controlled, it was driving her mad.

Didn't this feel good to him?

He was being so silent.

Too careful.

"You wait until I hit it hard," he hissed at her ear.

There was a prick at the base of her spine, and this odd heat traveled down her left ass cheek and then lingered there for a moment.

She sucked in her bottom lip and concentrated on the feel of his bulging cock head, delving deeper inside her—in places decent men were not to travel.

She was dirty—in this moment—more so than when her blood swirled around her all those weeks ago.

When he'd lost himself in her.

But now she was losing her mind.

Another prick.

This time the sensation was on the other cheek.

Her bottom went a little numb, and she whined, "I want to feel it. You took that away."

"I have a mean streak in me when you test me this way. I allow you only so much—there's only so much I can bear. And I cannot tolerate men working here, thinking you are going to give them your undivided attention. I get that—me!"

He pulled out of her ass, and what had been without feeling, suddenly flared.

She pushed two fingers inside her mouth and bit down to keep from yelling and screaming for his cock to get back in there.

He dropped to his knees behind her, and his tongue was pushing inside her anus.

"You gape—for me," he said with a hungry, predatory sound.

She moaned, propped one knee up on the desk, and in the next breath, he was back up, his cock back inside her ass.

He gripped her hip with one hand, and with the other, twisted one of the needles inside her back.

A hoarse, guttural sound emanated out of him, and she knew what he wanted.

"Pull it out . . . Lick the blood off. Get your dose of me," she said, pushing her bottom even further up in the air, arching her back deeper.

There was a tingle, a release on the right side of her lower spine, and then she could hear him licking, slurping at the needle. He made this pleasured, agonized sound, and his thrusts deepened.

But it wasn't until he bent over her, said, "Tongue. Out. Now!"

That her head went hazy. She was flying—floating.

He swiped the needle across her tongue, then ran the wetness over her cheek, and before she could blink, she'd heard something in the distance, like a knocking, and him growling in her ear to come and wet his cock.

"Goddammit, I can't last any longer—I said come on me!"

He was inside her puss, his hands gripped into her shoulders, and he was ramming himself furiously inside her.

A finger of his slipped inside her mouth, she bit down, and he convulsed, coming inside her.

She tasted for blood, and instead of finding that, she found the tip of a needle. It had been in between his two fingers, and she'd hit the end of it.

He cried out with an erotic gasp, and she crumbled—climaxing and slamming her fist onto her desk.

Papers rained down off the edges, he bit her shoulder through her dress and made this high pitched whining sound.

"Fuck—you're going to get a visit from me every day, and I'll keep those needles on me at all times," he said. "Along with my lubricant."

Her lips spread into a lazy grin. "I think I can work you into my printing schedule and give you my undivided attention, Mr. Masen. You're an important client to this slut."

He squeezed her left butt cheek and then slowly pulled out of her.

His hand flew between her legs, and he had a cloth in it.

He caught their come, wiped her real good, and stuffed it in his pocket. "For later—I might get lonely." He sniffed at his hands and then licked across his needle still sticking out.

He pulled it out and stared at the small mark from the needle.

His tongue washed over it.

The knocking sound was back.

It wasn't until they both could stand straight, had fixed their appearances, she was brave enough to open the door so he could leave.

When she peeked out, no one seemed aware anything had gone at all.

Stanford it seemed, had been hammering so loud at a beam he'd already fixed, it had drowned out everything they'd done.

Isabella walked calmly over to the construction worker she'd talked to earlier, asked for the work log to sign, grabbed a pen and put her mark on the paper.

Her hand went up and touched the one Edward had left on her shoulder, hidden under her clothes.

He was watching her, standing by the exit.

She waved and he winked.

And when he left, she knew Mr. Masen would be back. A good employee always wanted to receive their just due—and wages wasn't all she would give him.

**THE END**

**A/N:**

**Blog post today with more information about Murray Hall and what her real name was. I can't tell you how much fun it was to insert this real character into the story and watch it unfold. So fun!**

**Thanks for reading. I appreciate all your reviews with honest feedback. Thank you to my beta—Anakinsmom. She did a fabulous job and I threw this all at her last minute and begged her to make sure I didn't leave any gaping holes. There are very few gaping holes I like, and story holes—not something I enjoy. ;D**

**Also, still looking for ARC readers for my stories **_**Sleeves**_ **and **_**Knots**_—**both to be published next month. I can barely believe it! Let me know if you're interested. All you have to do is write up an honest review, post it on Goodreads and then once the story's published, put it on Amazon as well.**

**I'll be finishing **_**A Clean Slate**_ **now and **_**Omega of Black**_**, and unfortunately, **_**DOOGS**_ **has to come down. It'll be entirely too obvious to extended family that this is me once I publish, and I really can't have that. And I don't have time to finish it up. I'm so sorry to do that, so go ahead and flag fic if you want. I don't mind at all. Maybe some day down the line I'll change it completely so it's not so obvious who wrote it. I'll be taking it down in a few days… Sorry about that.**

**The good news is though I already have a few more fan fic stories taking up portions of my brain I'll be writing in a few weeks. Until then, hopefully you'll take a "chanse" on my published stories. I swear they aren't corny like this last sentence was. :O They'll be on Amazon exclusively for the first 3 months so I can have free promo days, and then after that they'll be up on Barnes and Noble. Thanks again for all your support!**

**Chanse**


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